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Reardon Rah! 


ROBERT E. HOLLAND, S.J. 






















In cutting in, Dan had brushed very lightly against 
Mike’s elbow and sent him stumbling along the track. 

{Page 41) 




















Reardon Rah! 

Trials and Triumphs of an American Schoolboy 

BY 

ROBERT E. HOLLAND, S.L 

n 



> 



) > > 


> 


New York, Cincinnati, Chicago 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 


Publishers of Benziger’s Magazine 

1923 
























Copyright, 1923, by Benziger Brothers 



Printed in the United States of America 


MW 18’23 

©C1A704 508 


To 

J. T. O’H. 

Remembering 


Olden Days 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

PAGE 

I 

“Last Tag'’ 

9 

II 

Introducing Mr. Grough 

19 

III 

The First Year Track Meet 

29 

IV 

Gilkin Jones 

44 

V 

“And I Did It for Him” 

53 

VI 

Roman History 

67 

VII 

Tarsicius Troubled No More 

79 

VIII 

A Secret 

90 

IX 

The Botolph Midgets 

101 

X 

A Silver Lining . . . 

112 

XI 

. . . And a Rainbow Bright 

125 

XII 

“Megalocephalitis” 

141 

XIII 

Vacation 

149 

XIV 

Wild Oats 

178 

XV 

“The Torch of Truth” 

201 




Reardon Rah! 


CHAPTER ONE 
“LAST TAG” 

Some natural sorrow , loss , or pain, 

That has been , and may be again . 

—William Wordsworth 

W HAT do you think our chances are 
for winning the Williams Inter- 
scholastic?” 

“Ought to do pretty well, I think.” 

“Do pretty wellV’ echoed back. “Well I’ll 
say so! Look at Jim Low, our famous shot- 
putter! Think of Frank Rooney in the six- 
hundred, and Walter Lanagan and Frank 
Wilson in the three-hundred, and Clarence 
Flahive in the high jump. Then just look at 
Dinge Hurley in the broad jump: he did nine 
feet, four inches the other day and didn’t have 
to stretch a muscle. Do pretty well! I guess 
so!” 

“Yes, but look,” argued the dissenter; “I 

9 


10 


REARDON RAH! 


know we’ve got good men, but . . . Look out, 
Danr 

A hard snowball purred past and lodged 

harmlessly in a bank of snow near the fence. 

The two boys, returning thus from school late 

one November afternoon, wheeled to see 

whence had come the missile, when suddenly a 

veritable barrage of snowballs rained all 

around them. Across the street securelv 

* 

ensconced within a fort of snow were the 
Public School boys emptying their howitzers 
upon Dan Reardon and Michael Hanley, 
students at Botolph High School. 

The boys had not read Shakespeare as yet, 
but there is something of the Falstaff in all 
human nature when at a disadvantage like this, 
so turning tail they fled up the street in the 
direction of their homes. Both being candi¬ 
dates for the school track squad, they soon were 
out of range and now eased up for a breathing 
spell. 

“Phew!” gasped Dan. “Some hundred yard 
dash! I’ll bet we clipped four tenths off the 
record that time!” 

“Don’t know about you, but I feel like I did 
it in about nine flat,” returned Michael. 

“Well, anyway, it got me home a little 
sooner.” 

Reaching out suddenly, Dan gave his com¬ 
panion a resounding slap on the back and 
swung quickly into the gateway. Then quick 


“LAST TAG” 


11 


as a flash there was another slap in return; a 
scurry of feet over the well-trodden snow; a 
slip, a fall and a flying bag of school books. 

A fight? No; only a little game of “Last 
Tag” turning into disaster. 

The two snow-bedecked young lads sat 
facing each other on the slippery sidewalk, and 
dire death did gleam in the eyes of each! 

“Well?” queried Dan, who had been the first 
to fall. 

“ ‘We-e-e-1-1-1’ nothing!” mocked Michael. 
“What’d you want to go and trip me for? I 
was just tagging you back!” 

“Yeh! The way a pile-driver tags a pile, 
huh?” 

“Aw, if you want to get wise about it, I’ll 
tag you again, I will.” 

“Come on, get up and try it! IT1 knock 
your . . 

“Daniel!” shouted a stentorian voice, “Daniel, 
get up out of that snow and come in here to 
your supper at once! How long do you think 
your mother’s going to keep it warm for you? 
All night?” 

A tall, dark figure was standing in the door¬ 
way. One hand held the evening paper over 
a very bald head, as a shield from the falling 
snow, while the other was raised in a gesture 
of command. 

“Yes, sir,” called Dan Reardon to his father; 
“I’ll be right in.” 


n 


REARDON RAH! 


And then to his opponent: “I’ll get you for 
this, Mike Hanley. I didn’t trip you anyway; 
you fell over my foot; but if you want to fight, 
just wait till after supper, and if you don’t 
come around, why you’re yellow, that’s what 
you are!” 

“If I get my hands on you, young man, 
you’ll come in here!”" cried Dan’s father, 
starting down the path. 

Safety First! Mike picked up his books and 
disappeared around the corner. 

“I’m coming, sir; I’m coming!” wailed Dan 
in terror. “Honest I am!” 

And Danny camet And Danny saw his 
father get out The Stick; but it was Danny’s 
father who conquered. 

Thus it was that a swollen-eyed young 
Daniel Reardon ate his supper alone in the 
kitchen one cold November evening. His only 
company was the cat, whining for a piece of 
fish. The faithful mouser was rewarded with a 
savage kick: “Get out of here, you funny 
looking thing!” 

Then Dan’s mother appeared in the kitchen 
doorway: “Did you call me, dear?” she asked. 

“No, ma’am,” was the sullen reply. 

Then, as her heart was the heart of a mother, 
Mrs. Reardon came over to her boy’s side, knelt 
down and took his hand, giving it a little 
squeeze. 

“Why didn’t you obey Papa, Danny boy. 


“LAST TAG” 


13 


when he first spoke to you? Then you 
wouldn’t have gotten a whipping, and made 
Papa and you and all of us feel bad all 
evening.” 

No reply. 

But Mrs. Reardon was a patient woman. 
She continued: “You’ll never grow up to be a 
good man, Danny, if you’re not a good boy. 
Now, tell Mamma, dear, why were you fight¬ 
ing with that Hanley boy? What did he do?” 

No reply. 

“All right, dear, think it over and tell me 
before bed time. I’ll wait.” 

The mother arose, and as she did so, thought 
she saw two big tears dreadfully near the edge 
of her son’s eyelids. But she was not sure, for 
just then Dan looked the other way. 

Now mind you, one and all, Dan Reardon 
was not a bad boy, but somehow or other he 
and The Stick often met in close, but un¬ 
friendly greeting. Indeed, perhaps this is the 
reason why Dan was not bad. Just look at 
him there, trying to eat his warmed-over 
supper. He is in the midst of most delicious 
grief! Leave him there. 

In the living room are gathered the rest of 
the little family: Mr. Reardon in the easy- 
chair with his paper; Mrs. Reardon at her 
darning; and Mary, the twin sister, at her 
books. 


14 


REARDON RAH! 


John Reardon, a native of St. Louis, had 
worked hard in his youth at his trade as a 
machinist; had saved enough in ten years to 
purchase his own shop, which though small, 
afforded his family a comfortable living. For¬ 
tune smiled on John Reardon: an opportunity 
came; he took advantage of it, and found him¬ 
self one day Manager of a large machine shop 
in St. Louis. Then Fortune fairly laughed, 
and once more John Reardon advanced. He 
was now Vice-President of a growing estab¬ 
lishment. Cream separators, they made, and 
John’s inventive genius was soon at work, so 
that before long improvements were made and 
the Centrifuge Cream Separator came to be 
one of the best on the market. 

John and his little family lived prosperously, 
yet not without remembering the Source of all 
their blessings: John and Mary Reardon were 
good parishioners of St. Philip’s Church. 

Such had been the state of their fortunes 
until three years previously. Then came the 
crash. Dishonesty on the part of the head of 
the firm had caused bankruptcy, and John 
Reardon was one of those who suffered when 
the hand of the law came down. The 
Centrifuge Separator Company was no more, 
and John Reardon had to begin climbing at 
the bottom of the ladder again. 

Something had been saved, however, and this 
served as a small capital for the new establish- 


“LAST TAG” 


15 


ment. It was thought better to leave St. 
Louis, so a general machine shop was opened 
in Washington. The choice was unfortunate: 
the Capital City offered no promising field for 
a machinist. This was the city of beauty, that 
abhorred smoke and the noise of hammers. 
Still, there was enough work to bring a fair 
living; enough to educate Dan and Mary, and 
to keep Marne, his good, unassuming wife, well 
enough dressed. And there was, too, the neat 
home on Sea Island Avenue, and St. Martin’s 
near at hand. 

What of the man himself? Tall, dark and 
stern of face, yet deeply tender, his recent 
worries had turned what few hairs that graced 
his head, slightly grey. John Reardon was a 
fine Catholic, a good husband and father, and a 
home-loving man. On one thing he was de¬ 
termined: his fourteen-year-old boy and the 
twin sister were going to get a good education 
—better than his own parents had been able to 
give him—cost what sacrifice it may. Accord¬ 
ingly Dan was sent to Botolph High School, 
while Mary attended the Academy of Notre 
Dame. 

Mrs. Reardon was the quiet mother, whose 
whole life was devoted to her family’s comfort 
and welfare. While her husband would storm 
at Dan for something he had done, or some¬ 
thing he had “forgotten” to do, she would 
stand by without a word, and when the cloud 


16 


REARDON RAH! 


had passed, would rectify everything with a 
few soft words of consolation. Tonight was 
one of the few times she had failed. 

Mary, the sister, was turning out to be an 
exact copy of her mother. She was of the type 
who take to study and quiet by nature, and who 
possess a warm, affectionate, but undemonstra¬ 
tive heart. 

And what of Dan? Ah, we shall know 
more of Dan presently. He was at this 
moment just coming into the living room. No 
word was spoken. Dan went over to a couch 
in the corner and stretching himself out, lay 
face downward. 

“No lessons tonight, I presume,” said Mr. 
Reardon. 

Dan raised his head. 

“How can I study when she’s got my place?” 
asked the offended boy, indicating his sister. 

Mary prepared to move from her seat at the 
table. 

“Sit right where you are, Mary,” com¬ 
manded the father. “Young man, get your 
books and study in the kitchen!” 

Ten minutes later, sad-hearted Daniel 
Reardon sat at the kitchen table staring 
blankly at an open “Bennett’s Latin Gram¬ 
mar.” 

“Ama-fcam, ama-bas, ama-bat,” he repeated 
vacantly, his thoughts miles away. Then 
realizing what he had said, he muttered: 


“LAST TAG” 


17 


“Pm a bat, all right; why didn’t I slam him 
twice as hard!” 

But what was that? 

A long, low wliistle sounded outside the 
kitchen door. The wind, thought Dan. But 
no; there it was again. Noiselessly he arose, 
tiptoed to the door, opened it an inch and 
peered out into the dark. The snow was no 
longer falling; the wind was down and the stars 
out. 

“Psst!” 

Dan opened the door and stepped quietly 
out on the carpet of snow on the back porch. 
How beautiful is night when the moonbeams 
glint on the new-fallen snow! How the poetry 
in Dan’s nature welled to the brim, when . . . 

“Psst!” 

Dan peered about, and as his eyes grew ac¬ 
customed to the dark, he espied near the back 
gate, which stood open, his onetime chum, but 
now deadly enemy, Mike Hanley! 

Then the gateway mysteriously filled with 
the forms of half a dozen boys. 

“Dare you out here!” was Mike’s taunt. 
For reply Dan gathered a handful of snow, 
crushed it into a hard ball, spat on it three times 
to indicate his contempt, and sent it sailing for 
Mike’s head. Mike ducked and the missile 
smashed into bits among the crowd of boys at 
the gate. 

A low T growl from the mob, and then, as Dan 


18 


REARDON RAH! 


darted toward his foe, a shower of snowballs 
struck him, as it seemed, on every part of his 
body. 

“Mike Hanley!” bellowed Dan, “I’ll black 
your eye! I’ll . . 

But no; somehow it did not seem that he 
really would, for Mike now had Dan by the 
collar, and deftly tripping him, sent him rolling 
into the snow. In a moment the crowd was 
upon him, washing his face with snow, stuffing 
it down his back and into his pockets. 

“Cheese it, fellows! Here comes his Dad!” 

“Get into the house and go to bed!” said a 
voice from above the snow-covered boy. “I’m 
too angry to lick you again.” 

Poor Daniel Reardon! Poor Dan! But his 
difficulties were just beginning. 

* *- # * 

Some natural sorrow , loss, or pain, 

That has been, and may be again. 


t 


CHAPTER TWO 


INTRODUCING MR. GROUGH 

And a verse of a Lapland song 
Is haunting my memory still; 

**A boy's will is the wind's willy 

And the thoughts of youth are long f long thoughts .” 

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

M R. GROUGH pronounced his name 
“Grew,” not “Gruff.” But (he had 
often been told), “r-o-u-g-h” spells 
rough , therefore your name ought to be “Mr. 
Gruff.” On these occasions the little teacher at 
Botolph High School would tighten his girdle 
a bit, smile a big wide smile, and begin once 
again his usual retort: “Yes,” he would 
say; “ ‘r-o-u-g-h’ is pronounced ‘ruff’; but 
‘t-h-r-o-u-g-h,’ is pronounced ‘threw,’ there¬ 
fore my name is not ‘Gruff,’ but ‘Grew’— 
‘G-r-o-u-g-h’ ‘Grew.’ ” And then the jovial 
little man, round of face and red of hair, would 
laugh till his face was all but as red as his hair. 

Mr. Grough had just explained the eccen¬ 
tricity of his name for the hundredth time to¬ 
day, and was now on the way to his room, 

19 


20 


REARDON RAH! 


where he knew there awaited correction a 
goodly pile of “Latin Exercises.” And there 
had been waiting too, since breakfast (it was 
now a quarter to three), a well-seasoned old 
pipe—French briar bowl, amber bit, price, 
twenty-five cents. 

He would take a smoke, . . . yes; a little 
smoke, correct some Exercises, and then maybe 
a little walk, and then by that time. . . . Ah, 
here was the Chapel. He would go in for a 
little visit first. Mr. Grough liked that word 
“little,” and he liked everything “little”—little 
boys, for instance. Yes; he was quite sure he 
liked little boys very much. And why not? 
Was he not little himself? Yes, he was—in 
everything except girth. And those who had 
known Mr. Grough, even a short time, could 
tell you he was far from little in soul. His 
heart could encompass the world, it seemed. 

Mr. Grough pushed open the Chapel door, 
walked up the dark aisle toward the little red 
light, made a labored genuflection (but all the 
way down), and knelt for a moment in prayer. 

Mr. Grough was “new” at Botolph High 
School. In fact he had come just three days 
ago. Reverend Father Rector had been in 
need of another teacher to supply the place of 
one of his men who had taken suddenly ill, so 
he wrote to his Superior, insisting that he really 
must have another man at once. Thus came 
Mr. Grough to Botolph High School. 



INTRODUCING MR. GROUGH 


21 


Now, Mr. Grough did not know a single boy 
in all Botolph’s. To be sure, lie had been busy 
that day learning as many names and faces as 
he could. But he wanted to know more—all, 
if possible; yet he almost despaired of that, for 
there were nine hundred of them! Well, at any 
rate, he would soon know some of them. He 
would pray for all of them right now: “Hail 
Mary , full of grace; the Lord is with thee . 
Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed 
is the fruit of thy womb , Jesus. Holy Mary, 
Mother of God , pray for us sinners, now, and 
at the hour of our death. A . . 

Mr. Grough had a distraction! He turned 
slowly around in the direction from which the 
sound had come, and . . . yes, there he was: 
a boy kneeling as if the bench behind him were 
going to fall on him any moment (and hence 
the need of his supporting it), his head on the 
bench in front, and tears, real salt tears mak¬ 
ing mud, beastly mud, I say, of the dust on the 
floor! Tears! Big round ones! Lots of them! 
Gallons! 

“Hello, Jonesy,” whispered Mr. Grough in 
the ear of the unsuspecting boy. 

Dan Reardon looked up suddenly through 
his tears with a glance that could have meant 
only one thing: “My name’s not Jones!” 

“Come on out in the corridor,” suggested 
Mr. Grough. “Tell me about it, too.” 

Dan arose, searched his pockets for a hand- 


REARDON RAH! 


22 

kerchief and followed the teacher to the Chapel 
door; and when Mr. Grough opened it to let 
him pass out, a clever scheme flashed all at once 
upon the boy’s mind. He went out ahead of 
the teacher, but without stopping even to look 
back, sped away down the corridor as fast as 
his legs would carry him. 

Mr. Grough stood aghast. 

“Look at that, now!” he said half aloud. “I 
wonder what’s wrong? They ought to get him 
for the track team.” 

And so saying, Mr. Grough went up to his 
Exercises and his twenty-five cent pipe. 

Once out on the street Dan Reardon 
breathed easily. What a narrow escape! “Tell 
him about it, too.” Well, he guessed not! But 
he’d find it out anyway. Even though he was 
“new” at the school, he’d soon find it out. 
Nearly the whole school knew it—at least all 
of First Year. Hadn’t Mike Hanley told 
everybody in “the room” about it, and hadn’t 
they spread it all over the school, and didn’t he 
have half a “shiner” to prove it was true? 

Everything was against poor Dan. Nobody 
loved him. Why not, like the sad little boy, go 
out in the garden and eat three worms, “one 
wooly one and two smoove ones.” No; Dan 
had been more sensible: he had gone into the 
Chapel after school and told the Good Lord 
about it. He had recounted the whole thing— 


INTRODUCING MR. GROUGH 


23 


from the fateful “Last Tag” to the trouncing 
he had gotten the night before in the back 
yard; and from the morning, when he had been 
“called” in Latin Memory and had not known 
even the first word, to the time he had “skipped 
Jug.” 

Oh, well, what was the use crying about it, 
after all? It would wear off, as paint wears 
off your finger when you touch a fence bearing 
the sign “Fresh Paint.” It would take a little 
time, maybe, but it would wear off. 

Such were Dan’s thoughts as he made his 
way slowly homeward. There was no track- 
practice today: the Coach had allowed a day 
of rest in preparation for a coming Meet with 
a rival school. Consequently Dan had the 
entire afternoon on his hands. A boy’s feelings 
when there is time to be spent and no definite 
way in which to spend it, are indescribable. 
Dan was wondering what to do with himself. 
He could not study so soon after school. That 
was out of the question. There was no Mike 
Hanley to play with. What would he do? 

No solution of his difficulties came to his mind 
as he trudged up North Capitol Street, kicking 
spurts of snow ahead of him with a downward 
motion of his toe at each step. If only Engine 
No. 12 would be called out, he could then go 
to the fire. But somehow fires are so few in 
snow-time. 

As Dan crossed L Street he noticed a huge 


£4 


REARDON RAH! 


motor truck laboring heavily on the steep hill. 
The snow on the street was deep and packed 
hard. Ruts of many passing wheels had 
marked one principal lane along the length of 
the street and in this path the truck was still 
laboring along. Suddenly with a groaning 
sound the engine died out and the truck came 
to a standstill. Eloquence flowed from the 
lips of the driver, as he quickly applied the 
brakes. He had tried to turn aside, out of 
the ruts, but so deep were they worn that even 
the powerful engine refused to move the load. 

Throwing the gears into first speed, the 
driver tried once more to bring his machine out 
of the ruts. The engine whirred, the rear 
wheels spun round, kicking a spray of snow 
and ice behind, but speed the motor as he 
might, the driver could not turn his truck. 

“Why’n’t you put some ashes under the 
wheels ?” shouted Dan from the curb. 

“Good idea, sonny! I’ll tell you what. 
You run along North Capitol Street with a 
barrel of ashes and sprinkle ’em for me and 
then maybe I’ll get up to M Street by the time 
Prohibition is over.” 

“Aw, you know it all, don’t you,” withered 
Dan. And then, as the driver still sat per¬ 
plexed at his wheel: “If I only had a scuttle 
full of ashes, I bet you could turn out of that 
hole.” 

“Why, you can have some ashes from my 


INTRODUCING MR. GROUGH 


25 


kitchen stove, 5 ’ said a sweet-faced lady stand¬ 
ing behind Dan. “Come on, little boy, I’ll give 
you some ashes.” 

For a moment Dan hesitated. Then the 
driver said: “Go ahead, kid, an 5 I’ll give you 
a nickel.” 

Strange to say, Dan was not thinking of the 
nickel, but followed the sweet-faced lady into 
her house and soon emerged with a brimming 
scuttle of ashes. Carefully he bestowed them 
under and in front of the truck wheels, spread¬ 
ing them out with the toe of his shoe. 

“Now go ahead, Mister,” said the boy, full 
of interest. “See if she’ll make it now.” 

A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk 
and were watching the proceedings with 
curiosity. In the midst of the crowd stood a 
short stout clerical-looking gentleman, who 
seemed the most interested spectator there. 

“Pur-r-r-r-r,” said the engine. 

“All right for us,” crunched the gears, 
“we’re willing.” 

“Z-z-z-z-z,” spun the wheels. 

“Fzit, fzit, fzit, fzit,” slapped the chains. 

“More gas! More gas!” screamed Dan, as 
he emptied ashes in front of the outside wheel. 
“Yea! there she goes! I knew she would! 
Come across with that nickel, Cap!” 

“Sony, I can’t never stop when I get goin’ 
good, y’know. See you later, Kiddo. Bye.” 
And on up the hill speedily, with new purchase 


26 


REARDON RAH! 


in the softer snow, went the truck and its un¬ 
grateful driver. 

“Aw, you piker!” shouted Dan after the 
fast-progressing truck. “If you owned a 
nickel, you’d sit up all night and watch it!” 
Then to himself; “Well, I made it go anyway. 
I knew I could if I wanted to. All you got to 
do is get at the thing that’s in your way and 
get it out of the way.” 

Dan was not a philosopher, but he saw 
clearly, and he told himself so, that two and 
two make—let’s see, how much is it? Ah, me! 
sometimes it’s not quite four. That is to say, 
you may plan and plan and everything looks 
as though it ought to work, but when success 
seems almost within easy grasp, whuff! off it 
skips and. . . . 

“Holy Cats!” exclaimed Dan interiorly, and 
picking up his books from the curb sped fast 
up the street, not daring to look back. 

And Mr. Grough, standing on the sidewalk, 
looked after the flying figure with almost a 
wistful smile. “I don’t like to use slang,” said 
the little man, almost audibly, “but for the love 
of Mike, what ails that youngster!” 

“Good afternoon, Father,” saluted the 
sweet-faced lady, picking up her coal-scuttle 
from the curb. 

“Ah, good afternoon, ma’am,” returned Mr. 
Grough politely. “I beg pardon, ma’am, but 
I think I’ve frightened that lad out of his 


INTRODUCING MR. GROUGH 


27 


ordinary civility. He seems to be afraid of me. 
He should have returned the scuttle to your 
kitchen for you.” 

“Oh, that’s all right, Father,” said the sweet¬ 
faced lady, smiling. “Boys will be boys, you 
know. I had one of my own and he taught me 
that long ago. Well, good afternoon, Father.” 

“Good afternoon,” said Mr. Grough. And 
turning back, retraced his steps to the High 
School. “Funny,” he mused, “but I guess they 
will. Boys will be boys, or rather boys are 
boys and then after that, men. If they’re good 
boys they’re good men, if they stay good boys. 
Oh, bother! What am I trying to say any¬ 
way? Now what I mean is this: that lad has 
the stuff in him. He’d ought to grow up good 
and stay good too. He’s got courage—look at 
the way he fixed that truck. I’m going to 
watch him, all right.” 

So musing, the little teacher returned home 
from his walk, leaving Dan Reardon far in the 
opposite direction, still running and thinking 
to himself: Golly day! two narrow escapes 
from the new teacher. Busybody sort of a 
man. What was he doing there? Following? 
Hard to tell. Well, anyway he had escaped 
and had plenty of track practice too, in spite of 
the Coach’s injunctions to rest. But would it 
do him any good? ’Course it would. It would 
put him in much better form. Ah, the First 
Year Track Meet was coming soon. 



28 


REARDON RAH! 


Here was another chance to show what he 
could do. He’d enter in all the events he could, 
and show ’em what he could do. He’d beat 
’em all! Hurray! He could hear ’em 
cheering him now! REARDON RAH! 
REARDON RAH! RAH! RAH! REAR¬ 
DON! Oh Boy! 

***** 

And a verse of a Lapland song 
Is haunting my memory stiU; 

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will , 

And the thoughts of youth are: long, long thoughts 


CHAPTER THREE 

THE FIRST YEAR TRACK MEET 

Of aU the torments, all the cares. 

With which our lives are curst; 

• • • • • 

Sure rivals are the worst! 

—William Walsh 

O NE month had passed. It was nearing 
Christmas, and the Faculty Director of 
Athletics at Botolph High School, 
Father Brown, had all his underlings scurry¬ 
ing hither and thither getting ready for one of 
the great events of the year—the First Year 
Track Meet. 

It was called the “First Year” track meet, 
because it was the burden of First Year to re¬ 
ceive all challenges from Second Year, and 
thus uphold the honor of their class. 

The Relay Race was the star event, and the 
one calculated to excite greatest interest. For 
that reason it was to be run off last. 

The schedule of events with their point- 
values was as follows: 


29 


so 


REARDON RAH! 


1st 2nd 3rd 
EVENTS: Place Place Place 

25 yd. Dash. 5 3 1 

25 yd. Low Hurdles. 5 3 1 

300 yd. Run. 5 3 1 

500 yd. Run. 3 3 1 

High Jump. 5 3 1 

Broad Jump. 5 3 1 

Putting 8 lb. Shot. 5 3 1 

Relay Race (150 yds. each boy) 9 — — 

Totals . 44 21 7 


Grand Total: 72 points. 

The great day came! It was the afternoon 
of December 23rd, and all the available space 
in the big gym was taken. Over on the right 
waved pennants proclaiming silently that this 
was the First Year Cheering Section, and from 
that section at times came the cheers that sup¬ 
plemented the silent announcement of the pen¬ 
nants: “First Year, Rah! First Year, Rah! 
Rah! Rah! First Year!” 

From the left where were gathered the boys 
of the other classes, came back the cry: 
“Second Year, Rah! Second Year, Rah! 
Rah! Rah! Second Year!” 

It was nearing the time for the games to 
start. Runners were pacing lightly up and 
down the track, limbering up their muscles. 
Officials were consulting; the Starter was load¬ 
ing his pistol. Now came forward a Fourth 










THE FIRST YEAR TRACK MEET 31 


Year lad, the Chief Announcer. Placing his 
megaphone to his lips, he announced: 

“The first event ... on today’s pro . . . 
gram . . . will be the . . . twenty-five yard 
. . . dash. . . . Three heats and fi . . . nals; 
. . . first and second places only . . . count¬ 
ing in the heats.” 

And then the hubbub! Both cheering sec¬ 
tions in full blast at once! 

Ah! There they are, ready for the first heat. 
Is there anyone in that line we know? No; the 
runners are all strangers to us. But there is 
Mr. Grough over there, keeping the crowd 
back. 

Bang! They’re off! 

What an inspiring sight! Six lithe young 
bodies dashing by so fast that you can hardly 
realize they have passed. Heads back, hair 
flowing, arms moving rhythmically, feet beating 
a rapid pit-pit-pit with the spikes on the floor. 
It is perfect form! 

But while we are thinking about it the first 
heat is over. Hear the Announcer: 

“First heat of the twenty-five yard dash, 
won by Donnellv, First Year; second: Havens, 
First l r ear.” 

Hurray! Hurray! First Year was going 
mad with joy! They had taken the start. 

Then presently another bang of the pistol, a 
wild dash, and once more the Announcer had 
to tell of two more places for First Year. 


82 


REARDON RAH! 


One more heat, in which Second Year finally 
got a place, and would be ready, after the shot- 
put, for the finals of the dash. 

In the shot-put the Second Year boys carried 
off the honors, for they were larger boys and 
having greater weight, easily put the lead be¬ 
yond the best distance the First Year 
champions could make. 

At the end of the second event, the score 
stood thus: 

First Year: 0 Second Year: 9 

And now for the finals of the dash! Ah! 
There they were, six abreast, and five of them 
from First Year. At most Second Year could 
add five points to her score, by taking first 
place, while First Year was sure of four points 
at least, and if they could only land all three 
places, the score would be tie: 9 to 9. 

Bang! They were off. Hurray! Donnelly 
was in the lead! Rouke, of First Year, was 
second! Well, they were sure. But who was 
third? Sinclair, of Second Year. Too bad; 
the score won’t be tie. But yes, it will! See, 
Havens only had a bad start. He is pulling 
up! He is abreast! Three yards to go. One 
mighty spurt! Havens is third! The score is 
tie! 

And so passed event after event of this 
wonderfully fine track meet. Nip-and-tuck 


THE FIRST YEAR TRACK MEET 33 


went the evenly matched contestants, Second 
Year excelling in the Field Events, and First 
Year redeeming herself in the races. 

At last the grand event of the day was draw¬ 
ing near: the Relay Race. The interest was 
intense, for on the result of this race would 
probably depend the success of the day for one 
side or the other. First Year had taken first 
and second place in the 300 yard run and third 
places in the High and Broad Jumps and in 


the 500 yard run. 

At this stage of 

the Meet 

the scores stood as 

follows: 



First 

Second 

EVENTS 

Year 

Year 

25 yd. Dash. 

. 9 

0 

High Jump. 

. 1 (10) 

8(8) 

300 yd. Run. 

. 8(18) 

1(9) 

Shot Put. 

. 0(18) 

9(18) 

500 yd. Run. 

. 1 ( 19 ) 

8 (26) 

Broad Jump. 

. 1 (20) 

8 (34) 


But what had happened in the Hurdles? The 
First Year Timber Toppers were good, and 
Emmett had easily landed first place. The 
real race had been for second place, between 
Murphy and Lermond. The latter, a First 
Year lad, had the lead over his rival by a stride 
and a half. He had knocked over his first 
hurdle, however, and must now clear his last 
or be disqualified. Y r oung Lermond was 
nervous as he approached the last barrier. He 








34 


REARDON RAH! 


took a well-measured leap, but his left toe 
dragged a bit over the board and set the hurdle 
rocking back and forth most dangerously. 
Lermond would easily finish before his rival, 
but to no purpose if that hurdle fell. All eyes 
left the runners momentarily and fixed them¬ 
selves upon the still rocking hurdle. Plop! 
Plop! it went back and forth and once seemed 
surely about to fall, when suddenly it settled 
again to an upright position. Spontaneously 
the cheers rang from First Year, for now the 
score stood as follows: 

First Year: 28 Second Year: 35 

And now for that wonderful Relay! If only 
First Year could win it! It would mean nine 
points added to her twenty-eight, totalling 
thirty-seven and thus a victory: 37 to 35. Ah, 
but if she should lose—nine points would be 
added to Second Year’s thirty-five, making 44 
to 28, an overwhelming defeat for the younger 
class. Was it to be 44 to 28 or 37 to 35? The 
veiled figure of the uncertain future began to 
loom more closely before the imaginations of 
the boys. Each side felt confident of victory— 
and yet, some misgivings too, gnawed away at 
the hearts of all. Oh, hurry, let’s have it over— 
even defeat seems easier to bear if one knows 
he has to bear it. 

Well, the final test was now at hand. The 



THE FIRST YEAR TRACK MEET 35 


first two runners had received their batons and 
were at the start. All was in readiness. The 
Starter stepped forward; the runners—Don¬ 
nelly, for First Year; Grace, for Second— 
crouched at the white line. The Starter raised 
his pistol. 

“On your mark! . . . Get set! . . .” 

“Hey! Hey! Wait a minute, there, before 
this race begins!” 

The Starter dropped his arm to his side and 
every eye in the gym was turned upon Dan 
Reardon as he stood in running-suit and shoes 
at the dressing-room door, one hand raised in a 
gesture of command. 

“Hey!” repeated Dan, coming forward. “I 
want to speak to Father Brown!” 

All were dumfounded! What did it mean? 
Father Brown met the boy in the middle of the 
door. 

“What’s the trouble, Dan?” asked the Priest. 

“Trouble! Gosh, Father, Joe Kirk, . . . 
Y r ou know, First Year’s anchor-man. He’s in 
the dressing-room there. He’s sick. Can’t 
run.” 

“Sick?” queried the Priest, raising his voice a 
bit, in order to carry above the ever-increasing 
hubbub of the curious crowd. “Anything seri¬ 
ous?” 

“Stomach-ache, he says,” said Dan. 

“Humph!” said Father Brown. “That’s 
nice.” And then as he saw Mr. Grough ap- 


36 


REARDON RAH! 


proaching: “Well, Mr. Grough, what’s to be 
done? First Year anchor-man sick, he says. 
What’s to be done? Who’s going to run? 
Can’t delay the race too long!” 

“What about this lad?” suggested Mr. 
Grough, indicating Dan Reardon. “I’ve been 
watching him at practice. Thought sure he’d 
be picked. Good runner, Father.” 

“I was picked,” ventured Dan, “by the 
Coach; but Father Mercer called me the other 
day and said if I couldn’t get more’n sixty gen¬ 
eral average, I couldn’t run in today’s meet. 
An’ I didn’t get sixty even; so I can’t run.” 

“Humph!” grunted Father Brown again. 
“That’s bad. Well, Mr. Grough, I leave it to 
you. Maybe if . . .” 

“I understand, Father,” interrupted Mr. 
Grough. “I was thinking of that. He’s in his 
office now, I think. I’ll see him at once.” 

Mr. Grough hustled away to the Office of the 
Prefect of Studies. 

Calling the Announcer, Father Brown took 
his megaphone and announced: “The Relay 
Race will be delayed a few minutes. Please 
have patience for about five minutes and all 
will be settled. No trouble at all.” 

He then hastened to the dressing-room, and 
found poor Joe Kirk doubled up with a pain in 
his right side. 

“Get the Doctor, Finch,” commanded Fa- 


THE FIRST YEAR TRACK MEET 37 


ther Brown* “This is more than a stomach¬ 
ache. It looks like appendicitis to me.” 

Out in the gym the mystified boys were talk¬ 
ing in subdued voices. The thought in the 
mind of each was this: “What’s up? Is Dan 
Reardon (Dan was now talking to the Coach, 
around whom were gathered the runners)—is 
Dan Reardon going to run? Where’s Joe 
Kirk? What’s up?” 

But there was Father Brown reappearing, 
and there, too, Mr. Grough. The Priest and 
the teacher met and seemed to be conferring as 
they came over to where the Coach stood sur¬ 
rounded by the little group of boys. 

“Mr. Spalding,” signalled Father Brown to 
the Coach. “Step over here a moment and 
bring Dan Reardon with you, please.” 

“Now, Mr. Grough will tell us what we are 
to do about this affair.” 

“Mr. Spalding,” began the teacher, “you had 
originally picked this boy for the First Year 
anchor-man in the Relay, hadn’t you?” 

“Yes, sir; I thought him better winded than 
Kirk.” 

“Very good. Now, Dan, I’ve just been 
speaking to Father Mercer, and he grants you 
permission to run. ...” 

“Hurray!” cried Dan loud enough for the 
nonplussed boys to hear. 

“But on one condition,” continued Mr. 
Grough. “Namely, that you give me your 


38 


REARDON RAH! 


word of honor that you will try to get a general 
average of at least seventy-five per cent next 
month. What do you say?” 

Wow! That’s pretty hard. But then, 
thought Dan, it was worth it. Here was his 
chance to shine before the whole school; make a 
lasting name. And after all, if he failed, no 
one could say that he had not honestly tried. 

“All right, sir,” agreed Dan; “I’ll promise 
at least to try harder than I did.” And man¬ 
fully he extended his hand. The teacher shook 
it warmly, and Father Brown, once more tak¬ 
ing the megaphone, was heard to announce: 

“Sorry to say that Joe Kirk, the First Year 
anchor-man has taken slightly ill, and had bet¬ 
ter not run. ...” 

A low groan of despair issued from First 
Year, while with heartless fury Second Year 
and her allies cheered wildly. 

Father Brown waved his megaphone for 
silence: “I am happy, however, to tell you that 
First Year has found a promising champion in 
Daniel Reardon, whose disqualifications have 
now happily been removed. All right, Mr. 
Starter, let’s have the Relay.” 

Skeptical indeed was the clapping that was 
intended as applause for Dan, but for the very 
reason that he knew he was not liked, he at once 
determined he was going to win the race. 

Mr. Grough was once more seeking his place 
along the sidelines, and as he passed, Dan put 


THE FIRST YEAR TRACK MEET 39 


his hand respectfully on the teacher’s arm, and 
almost whispered: “Thank you, sir.” 

“All right, Danny; see you later. Good 
luck!” 

Once again all was in readiness for the be¬ 
lated race. The Starter’s pistol banged, and 
away fled the runners, Grace of Second Y r ear 
taking the lead. 

It was twice around to each man, and at the 
end of the second lap, Grace passed his baton 
to Cormack ten yards ahead of Donnelly. 

Second Year was wild with joy! It seemed 
a vear before Donnelly passed the baton to 
Drill. 

Drill closed up a little on his opponent, but 
was breathing hard and slowed down at the 
end, thus losing his gain. 

Michaels, Second Year; Beatty, First Year, 
were now on the track. In their excitement, all 
forgot about the strange appearance of Dan 
Reardon. Beatty was closing up. Five yards 
more and he would be abreast. He would 
make it on the stretch. Michaels turned the 
last corner with Beatty at his heels. Fifteen 
yards to the touch-off line! Hurray! Beatty 
was abreast; he was one yard ahead! But oh! 
Each onlooker held his breath: Beatty had 
stumbled, had lost his stride, and came slapping 
along to pass his baton to Dan Reardon with 
the last Second Year runner four yards in the 
lead. And who was this Second Year runner? 


40 


REARDON RAH! 


We have seen him before. Look closely! 
Why, it’s Mike Hanley! 

Mike was a beautiful runner! He was strid¬ 
ing along swiftly and with an even grace that 
compelled admiration. And five yards in his 
rear came his enemy, Dan Reardon. Dan was 
no mean opponent. He was really making 
headway. He was running well. At the end 
of the first lap he had closed in two yards. 

In a few short moments all would be over. 
It was now win or lose for Dan and First Year. 
In his mind’s eye he saw his reputation as a 
runner established, and with it his prestige and 
popularity among the boys. He put every 
ounce of strength of his wiry body into the race. 
He gained another yard! One more comer to 
turn and the home stretch and victory! 

The corner was turned and Dan was abreast 
his opponent. Only a few yards more and he— 
the “dark horse”—would win. But confident 
as he was, he seemed unable to get ahead of 
Mike Hanley. And then it was that Satan, 
who was also in the race, whispered a word in 
Dan’s ear. 

“Why not foul him? Look! There’s your 
chance! No one will see you! You can’t win if 
you don't!” 

And there was an excellent chance! Dan 
was only a hair behind Mike—the two running 
as if propelled by a single moving agent. Dan 
might pretend to spurt and ever so slightly veer 



THE FIRST YEAR TRACK MEET 


4! 


a bit to his left, thus harming Mike’s beautiful 
stride. 

These thoughts flew through Dan’s brain 
quicker than lightning. Five yards remained. 
Would he do it or not? Y r es; he told himself, 
he would! It was worth it! 

And now Dan was just on the point of 
putting his plan into execution, when suddenly 
he recollected himself, and with all the strength 
of his soul, resolved that he would not be dis¬ 
honorable, cost what it may! And at the very 
same and identical moment that Dan took his 
resolve, something happened to Mike Hanley. 
In some unexplainable manner he stumbled 
just a little—ever so little—but lost his stride. 

Dan saw his opportunity, and passed ahead 
on a spurt, cutting a little—ever so little—in 
front of Mike. But oh! Why did he make 
that little cut-in ahead? Why didn’t he keep 
a perfectly straight course? Well, why not do 
it? This was the reason why not: it looked for 
all the world like a foul; for in cutting in, Dan 
load brushed very lightly against Mike’s elbow 
and sent him stumbling along the track, whilst 
he himself threw up his arms and breasted the 
tape! 

Dan Reardon had run well! He had crossed 
the line first, and all First Year was cheering 
him; but he had not won the race, nor had First 
Year won the Meet, for there was the An¬ 
nouncer now bellowing through his megaphone 






42 


REARDON RAH! 


the decision of the Judges that Hanley had 
been fouled, that the Relay Race was therefore 
his, that consequently Second Year had won 
the Meet—score 44 to 28! 

No words will describe the cheers of Second 
Year; none tell of the chagrin and anger of 
First Year; but we may depict the white coun¬ 
tenance of one Dan Reardon, as panting he 
stood before Father Brown in the middle of the 
floor and calmly and clearly announced to the 
Priest: “Father Brown, I want to tell you that 
I did not foul Hanley! It was an uninten¬ 
tional accident!” 

But it was clear that Father Brown believed 
as did the Judges. He made an impatient 
gesture with his hand and said half aloud: 
“Reardon, that’s enough from you! Don’t 
make it worse!” And turning about, he began 
clearing away the crowd that was gathering. 

Just then Mr. Grough crossed the floor from 
the sidelines, and going closely up to Dan, took 
him by the arm. 

“Get dressed quickly, Dan, my boy! And 
listen here!” (Mr. Grough faced Dan toward 
him, looking him squarely in the eyes.) “I 
want to see you tonight at seven-thirty sharp! 
Don’t you dare ‘forget’!” 

“But, Mister,” Dan almost wailed, “I didn’t 
do it! I swear. . . .” 

“Sh! That’ll do! Get dressed now, and see 
me at seven-thirty.” 


THE FIRST YEAR TRACK MEET 43 


Reardon Rah! . . . What? . . . Humph! 
You don’t say! 

Jfc. Jfc. Jk. Jfc, A. 

Of all the torments , a/Z Z&tf cares. 

With which our lives are curst; 

9 • • • • 

Awn? rivals are the worst! 


CHAPTER FOUR 
GILKIN JONES 

It is noe cunning a knave to ken. 

And a man hat heare him speake. 

—Old Ballad 



AN REARDON somehow got through 
the crowd of scowling boys—scowling, 
for there was not one of them who did 
not believe him guilty of fouling Hanley. He 
put on his clothes as in a trance; rushed upstairs 
and out into the street. Here the air was cold 
and bracing. How grateful it felt to his burn¬ 
ing cheeks. 

Dan fairly ran home. But when he reached 
the gate he paused. Why go in? His looks 
would betray him and he would have to tell his 
story. Nobody would believe him. He turned 
away. Then he turned back again. Then 
away again, but this time to stand face to face 
with hi<j <dstpr 

“Why, Dan!” exclaimed Mary. “What’s 
the matter? Aren’t you coming in to supper? 
Who won the Meet? I do hope it was First 
Year!” 


44 




GILKIN JONES 


4 5 


Mary was a shrewd sister. She sensed some¬ 
thing wrong. There was some reason why her 
brother did not want to enter his own home. 
So she figured that it would be best to get him 
inside first and let her mother settle the case. 
Mary had perfect faith in her mother. 

“Oh, Danny,” she continued, drawing her 
brother by the arm up the little path. “Come 
on in! Come on in! It’s cold out here. Come 
on in and tell me all about the Meet. I’m just 
dying to hear!” 

By this time Mary was fairly dragging Dan 
up the path and through the door. 

Mr. Reardon would not be home till late. 
Business had kept him in the city. 

Mrs. Reardon met her children in the hall, 
and before she could say a word, Dan had 
thrown his arms around her neck, his head upon 
her bosom, and was sobbing as if his heart 
would break. 

The good mother put her arms about her boy 
and comforted him with her mother’s love, 
which spoke eloquently, though not through the 
human voice. 

“Tell me, Dan,” she said at last. 

“They accused me of cheating in the Relay 
Race, Mamma; but honest I didn’t! I didn't! 
He stumbled and when I brushed his arm, why, 
I couldn’t help it, ’cause I cut across just a 
little. He’d have lost anyway. Honest I 
didn't cheat!” 


46 


REARDON RAH! 


“I know you didn’t, dear,” said Mrs. Rear¬ 
don, “but . . 

“Now, Mamma, no ‘buts’ about it. I didn't 
and that’s all there is to it. And Mr. Grough 
says he wants to see me at seven-thirty. Father 
Brown doesn’t believe me; and nobody does. 
I wish I was dead! I suppose Mr. Grough 
wants to give me a good laying-out; but I’ll go. 
I’m not afraid of him or anybody else in their 
old school. I’ll show ’em yet. Gimme my hat 
and I’ll go tell him so right now!” 

In a moment Dan had picked up his hat from 
the floor, thrown open the door and was racing 
down the street to Botolph High School. 

“Oh, Mamma!” cried Mary, “hadn’t we bet¬ 
ter follow him! Dan! Dan! Come back!” 

“Never mind, dear,” said the patient mother. 
“He’ll be back before long. And I’ll caH up 
Mr. Grough and tell him to send Dan home as 
soon as possible. To tell the truth, dear, I 
don’t think he’ll go as far as three blocks. 
He’ll be back in a few minutes; don’t fret.” 

It was six o’clock when Dan Reardon left 
his home for the High School, and already 
dark. Cold stars shone steadily through the 
clear night air and the dry snow crunched 
under his rapid, impatient stride. There were 
but few persons on the street, for it was near 
dinner-time, and most of the Departmental em¬ 
ployees were already home. The arcs sput- 


GILKIN JONES 


47 


tered along the whole length of North Capitol 
Street, and far up on Capitol Hill, Dan saw, 
but paid no heed to the bright light in the dome 
of the Capitol, telling the city that Congress 
was still in session. Dan passed Clare Street, 
and was hurrying by an alley, when suddenly 
a man stepped out and accosted him. 

“Hey, kid, commere.” 

Dan stopped short. 

“What do you want?” he asked nervously. 

“Got a match?” 

“No; don’t smoke.” 

“Well, maybe you could tell me where this 
number is?” 

The rough-looking fellow produced a scrap 
of paper from his vest pocket, and drawing 
close to the boy, pointed out the address. 

“Twenty, Clare Street, North West,” read 
Dan aloud. “Why, yes; that’s right around 
the comer. I’ll show you.” And he led the 
way back, the stranger following close behind. 

Number Twenty was but a few houses from 
the comer. Dan found the place with ease, but 
was surprised to see in the window the familiar 
sign: “For Rent.” 

“Why,” said Dan, turning quickly on the 
stranger, “nobody lives there.” 

The man and the boy were in the yard now 
and close to the front door. The street was 
poorly lighted and they stood in a shadow. 
Rut there was light enough for Dan to see the 


48 


REARDON RAH! 


glint of a shiny revolver pointed in his face, and 
he was not so dazed as to misunderstand the 
stranger’s meaning when he spoke. 

“No; nobody lives there just yet; but they 
started moving today, and foolishly moved 
their safe the first thing. Now quick, kid; see 
that window? It’s not locked. The moving 
man fixed that for me. I’ll boost you up; you 
get inside and unlock the door and I’ll give you 
five dollars. If you don’t I’ll blow your brains 
out! Come on!” 

Dan was terrified. He stood rooted to the 
spot, until, his small stock of patience gone, the 
man pushed the boy toward the window. Then 
suddenly there was the sound of crunching 
footsteps on the sidewalk. 

“Hang it!” muttered the stranger. “Get 
under the porch, quick; and if you squeal. I’ll 
kill you!” 

He pushed Dan under the iron steps with the 
point of his revolver. Close together crouched 
the two, while the footsteps grew louder. Dan 
hardly dared to breathe. And oh! The pedes¬ 
trian was stopping in front of the gate! He 
was a policeman! Dan could see the top of his 
head through the jig-saw pattern of the steps. 

The Officer paused a moment in front of the 
gate, looked up at the house, then turned away 
in the direction of First Street. 

A full fifteen minutes passed before Dan’s 


GILKIN JONES 


49 


companion moved. He then peered out cau¬ 
tiously and motioned the boy to follow him. 

Dan was the first to speak. He had been 
thinking hard for the last fifteen minutes and 
in spite of his excitement had settled on a plan. 
If only there would he a telephone in the house! 

“Say,” whispered Dan, “you’re clever, all 
right. What’s your name anyway?” 

The fellow eyed the boy narrowly a moment 
and then replied: “So you’re game, eh? Good. 
Well, I’m Gilkin Jones, best know r n as ‘Get¬ 
away Gil.’ I’ve cracked safes, I have! I’m a 
bad man, kiddo, so no monkey business. Come 
on, now; the cop’s gone. Let’s get to work. 
Up you go.” 

Gilkin Jones hoisted Dan to the window. It 
was an easy matter to lift it, and in a moment 
Dan was inside. 

“Better shut it, Gil,” suggested Dan. “It 
might look funny to see it open if anybody 
should happen along.” 

“Good stuff,” agreed Gil. “Hurry up; it’s 
cold out here. Haw! Haw!” 

Dan groped his way about in the dark room 
—the front parlor—feeling his way among the 
disordered pieces of furniture. Once, on reach¬ 
ing out, his hand came in contact with . . . 
Horrors! ... a cold face! It was some mo¬ 
ments before he realized that he had touched 
merely the head of a plaster bust. This thrill 
past and still groping in the dark, Dan at last 


50 


REARDON RAH! 


found the hallway, and was tiptoeing along the 
wall, when suddenly his hand touched a square 
box. The telephone! 

Dan felt for the receiver, and on removing 
it from the hook, as sometimes happens, the bell 
tinkled two or three weak strokes; and just as 
the bell rang, a door at the far end of the hall 
opened and a flood of light filled the place. 

“Hold up your hands!” came the command 
from the doorway. 

Dan, blinking in the light, obeyed mechani¬ 
cally, holding the receiver as high as the cord 
would allow. 

In the doorway stood Mike Hanley and his 
father, the latter holding a revolver at arm’s 
length in front of him. 

“For God’s sake, Mr. Hanlev, don’t shoot! 
But take this phone and call the police! A 
burglar is outside waiting for me to let him in!” 
cried Dan, guileless in his choice of words. 

“So you’re not only a cheat on the running 
track, but a thief too!” cried Mike. 

“Shut up!” commanded the father sharply. 
And then to Dan: “Young man, come here.” 

Dan placed the receiver back on the hook and 
obeyed. 

“Michael, you see that this boy does not get 
away, while I peep outside. I believe he’s 
inventing this burglar.” 

Mr. Hanley went to the front door, and lift¬ 
ing the curtain an inch, peered out. 


GILKIN JONES 


51 


“He’s at the side window, sir,” hoarsely 
whispered Dan. “Better put out your flash; 
he’s got a gun.” 

“Sh!” commanded Mr. Hanley, shifting his 
position in order to obtain a view of the win¬ 
dow. Then presently he turned and faced the 
two boys. 

“It’s just as I thought: there’s nobody in 
sight!” 

It would not occur to Mr. Hanley or to 
Mike that the light and the sound of voices 
would frighten Gilkin Jones far away. 

“Now, young fellow,” continued Mr. Han¬ 
ley. “Get out of here! In consideration of 
your parents I’m not going to make this thing 
public, but if ever I hear of any more of your 
dishonest escapades. I’ll report the matter to 
your father and see that he places you in a 
reform school.” 

Here Mr. Hanley unlocked the door and 
motioned Dan out. Without a word the boy 
left the house, and gaining the street, turned 
and saw the father and son standing in the 
doorway. 

“I didn’t do it, Mike Hanley!” he called. “I 
didn’t foul you, and you know it! And I 
wasn’t going to rob you either!” 

With that the miserable boy turned and fled 
toward North Capitol Street, and on reaching 
the corner, stopped still. But only for a mo- 


52 


REARDON RAH! 


ment did he hesitate, and then turned up the 
street toward home . 

Poor Dan! Poor Dan Reardon! More 
difficulties, Danny boy! 

■* * * # ■' 

It is noe cunning a knave to ken y 
And a man but heare him speake. 


CHAPTER FIVE 

“AND I DID IT FOR HIM!” 


He has conned the lesson now; 
He has read the hook of pam: 


There are furrows on his hrow; 

I must make it smooth again. 


WlNTHROP MACKWORTH PrAED 


HRISTMAS came and passed, and the 



joys it brings to all hearts helped in some 


measure to soothe Danny Reardon’s 
wounded spirit. That fateful twenty-third of 
December had left deep impressions. He was 
beginning to think he was the one boy in the 
wide, wide world who was having “hard luck,” 
and that everyone else lived in a garden of de¬ 
lights and lay down at night on a bed of roses. 
What terrible difficulties, in Dan’s mind, he 
had to put up with. And the worst of it was, 
that try as he might “to do the right thing,” he 
invariably came out wrong. 

And, indeed, a word may be said in behalf 
of Dan’s point of view. Yes; he had difficulties 
to put up with. What boy has not? What boy 
—barring not even those brought up in a “hot- 


53 


54 


REARDON RAH! 


house”—does not meet with “difficulties” of 
one kind or another: We are all sons of Adam. 

But here was the trouble: Dan Reardon 
knew no way to fight down his difficulties. He 
was trying, but was succeeding only in making 
matters worse. He was beating the air. 

Yes; the Christmas Holidays had passed, 
and now when the time had come to return once 
more to school, Dan did so only with reluctance 
and a bad grace. What would happen next 
(he was asking himself) if he went back to that 
old Botolph High School? But his father had 
insisted, so there was no higher court of appeal. 

The first thing, of course, would be to avoid 
Mr. Grough as much as possible, for though the 
kind-hearted teacher had in some slight way 
made an entrance into Dan’s reserved inner 
shrine, still (thought Dan) he must be eluded 
until he should have forgotten all about that 
unkept date for the evening of December 
twenty-third, at seven-thirty. 

Mr. Grough was a “good scout,” though 
(Dan kept thinking, as he walked leisurely 
down to school). It was mighty good of him 
to have asked the Prefect of Studies to let him 
run. But golly! there was another thing! 
He’d have to study like time now, for he’d 
given his word that he would, and meant it. 
And wow! he’d given his word to Mr. Grough, 
at that! Naturally, therefore, Mr. Grough 
would be the one to see that he kept it. How 


“AND I DID IT FOR HIM!” 


55 


on earth could he escape Mr. Grough, this be¬ 
ing the case? 

Well, he’d make the best of it he could, and 
(he thought bitterly) probably get the worst 
of it. Dan sighed. Here was the school. 
How he hated to go in. Better do it at once, 
though, because a boy he knew was coming 
down the street, and Dan did not wish to see 
anybody he knew. He longed to be exactly the 
way he had felt on his first day at Botolph’s: 
not knowing anyone, and no one knowing him. 

Dan pushed open the swing-door, and . . . 
Thump! The door came in contact with some¬ 
thing soft. 

“Woops!” said a pleasant and all too familiar 
voice on the other side of the door. “No harm 
done. Just coming out for a little breath of 
fresh air.” 

“Now I’m in for it!” muttered Dan to him¬ 
self. 

The door was pulled open from the inside: 
“Why, hello! And how’s my friend Dan Rear¬ 
don? How’s the boy, Dan? Santa Claus 
good to you? Hey? Pair of skates? Hock¬ 
eys? Shake hands!” 

Dan placed a limp hand into Mr. Grough’s 
ample right, and received a warm, hearty 
squeeze. 

“Good morning, Mr. Grough,” Dan man¬ 
aged to whisper, and withdrawing his hand, 
hastened—nay—all but fled past Mr. Grough 


56 


REARDON RAH! 


into the building. At each step he felt he 
would be called back and reminded of the neg¬ 
lected visit set for seven-thirty on December 
twenty-third. Had he forgotten ? Impossible. 
But why had he not spoken of it? Was he 
waiting for a better chance of laying him out? 
Hardly that, for he was so very pleasant. 

Dan’s understanding was slow this morning. 

The morning’s class had passed unevent¬ 
fully. Dan had been called in Latin Memory; 
had recited it perfectly and had been com¬ 
mended by the teacher. Things were not so 
bad after all, was his thought. At recess he 
went off by himself, and as only a few of his 
very best friends cared even to look at him, he 
was left unmolested. This was hard to bear. 
It was another difficulty. Confound them! 
They were always turning up! He was being 
snubbed. He was an outcast from the crowd. 
All believed that he had fouled Mike Hanley. 
With a great effort Dan swallowed a lump in 
his throat, and, as the bell was sounding, went 
back to class. 

Came the lunch hour. Dan resolved on a 
new set of tactics. He would not go off by 
himself this time. He would test his new 
scheme. Maybe he would get a chance to ex¬ 
plain himself. 

A group of boys of his own “room” were 
gathered talking together and eating apples, 


“AND I DID IT FOR HIM!” 


57 


candy and bits of fruit near the Office of the 
Prefect of Discipline. Toward this group of 
boys Dan slowly made his way. The conversa¬ 
tion was of indifferent subjects—chiefly of the 
Christmas gifts they had received. 

Dan stood on the outside of the group, peel¬ 
ing an orange. 

“ ’Do, Dan,” saluted little Pat Crosby, a boy 
who had no “enemy” in the school, and who 
thought everyone else “a dandy guy.” 

“ ’Do, Pat,” returned Dan as pleasantly as 
he could. 

Every boy turned and looked at Dan. The 
look being interpreted meant: “Well, of all the 
nerve!” 

“Aw, say, felluhs,” said Dan with a sudden 
burst of determination; “don’t look at me 
thataway; please don’t! Demme tell you 
somep’n. I know what you’re all thinkin’ 
’bout. But lemme tell you somep’n. You’re 
thinkin’ ’bout that Relay, an’ how they said I 
fouled Mike Hanley. Well I tell you I didn't. 
I saw him stumble just a wee bit; then I 
spurted and crossed in just a wee bit; and he 
threw out his arm—not on purpose, I don’t think 
—but he threw out his arm just a wee bit, and 
I knocked against it, and we were goin’ so darn 
fast that he stumbled worse, and that’s how he 
lost his stride. Now if you felluhs don’t want 
to believe me, well, don’t; but I tell you I didn’t 
mean to foul him. I didn't foul him!” 


58 


REARDON RAH! 


“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roared a peal of loud 
laughter behind Dan, and turning he stood face 
to face with Mike Hanley. “Do you think the 
crowd’s goin’ to believe a lot of junk like that? 
Haw! Haw! That’s a good joke, that is. 
Why, even your old friend ‘Fats’ Grough 
w r ould laugh at that. Know any more of 
them?” 

“Mike Hanley,” said Dan with deliberation, 
“do your worst to harm me, if you want to, but 
you just shut up your mouth when it comes to 
talkin’ about the teachers around here. They’re 
out of this.” 

“Out of it, huh? Are they? That’s why 
‘Fats’ Grough, or ‘Grew Fat,’ I don’t know 
which, has been goin’ round tellin’ everybody 
that when you fouled me, why, it was prob’ly 
only an accident. Out of it, huh? You call 
that ‘out of it , 1 do you? Why, you wouldn’t 
even of got in the race if he didn’t have a pull 
with the Office and busted the rules j ust to get 
you in the race. Guess I know. Out of it! 
Out of . . .” 

Bang! A small but very hard little fist flew 
out, and . . . well, in the language of art . . . 
frescoed Mike Hanley’s left eye. 

Just then the bell rang. And just then Mr. 
Grough stepped quickly out of the Office, and 
catching Dan Reardon by the arm, saved Mike 
Hanley a broken nose. 

“Get to class, all of you!” he commanded 


“AND I DID IT FOR HIM!” 


59 


sharply. “Daniel Reardon, come into the 
Office with me!” 

Only one thought ran through Dan Rear¬ 
don’s heated brain—no; two thoughts—the first 
was: Suspension for fighting, perhaps expul¬ 
sion; and the second was the bitter, bitter 
thought: Here he is, taking me into the Office; 
letting Mike go —and I did it for him , too! 

Yes; those were the thoughts in Danny 
Reardon’s young head as he accompanied Mr. 
Grough into the Prefect’s Office. He was 
fearful, he was angry: fearful of suspension; 
angry because he felt that of all men, Mr. 
Grough should be the last to take him to his 
punishment, for was it not for him that he had 
struck Mike Hanley? Yet he could not 
tell Mr. Grough that this was his reason. 
Would Mr. Grough thank him for taking 
his part against an insolent boy? Ob¬ 
viously the only thing for Dan to do was to 
swallow another bitter pill. The rest of the 
school was by this time settled in class for the 
afternoon. Dan found himself standing in that 
dreaded place: beside the desk of the Prefect 
of Discipline. His eyes were cast down, so 
that he failed to see that Mr. Grough sat at 
the desk, not Father Brown, who was away for 
the afternoon. 

“Well, Dan,” said Mr. Grough; and at the 
sound of the voice Dan started. He had not 
seen Mr. Grough take the Office chair; had not 



60 


REARDON RAH! 


he remained outside? “Well, Dan/' repeated 
Mr. Grough, “you had better get a chair, else 
you’ll be tired before I get through with you.” 

Dan’s heart fell clear to the depths of his 
shoes! 

“Now, Dan,” went on Mr. Grough, when 
the boy was seated, “let’s see; let’s see. Let’s 
begin from the beginning. You’re in a pretty 
bad fix, aren’t you? First of all you begin the 
year with low marks for the first month. That 
pleases your father very much, I'm sure. 
Then—Oh, don’t look surprised: a little birdie 
told me everything—then you have a row with 
one of your companions and make an enemy of 
him. Next you come off unfortunately in a 
relay race, after putting yourself forward as 
the champion of your year. After that you 
have an escapade with a burglar while on your 
way to see me at seven-thirty on December 
twenty-third, and you are so frightened—at 
least, I suppose that was your reason—that 
you don’t keep your date with me. 

“So far, so good—or so bad, just as you look 
at it; but now my little stock of information, or 
those things I find out even when I’m not try¬ 
ing to, has run out. I confess, Dan, that I am 
at a loss to know why you were fighting with 
Michael Hanley today. Your low marks are 
easily explained. It’s easy to account for your 
first row. Your encounter with the burglar 
might happen to anyone. And it’s easy to see 




“AND I DID IT FOR HIM!” 


61 


that you didn't foul Mike Hanley in the Relay; 
but I’m blest if I can see why you wanted to 
black his eye just when you knew everyone was 
for him and against you. Why was it, Dan? 
Do you care to tell me?” 

What surprises to Dan! This man was a 
wizard! He knew everything. And what had 
he said? “It’s easy to see you didn’t foul Mike 
Hanley in the Relay.” Did he believe that? 
Impossible! Nobody did except his mother 
and sister. 

“Well, Dan, aren’t you going to tell me?” 

“Mr. Grough,” the boy began with respect¬ 
ful determination; “no; I’m not going to tell 
you, sir. I can’t . . .” And he sat looking at 
the floor. “But,” continued Dan, brightening 
a little, “do you really mean that, Mr. Grough? 
Do you really mean it?—what you just now 
said: do you really believe that I didn't foul 
Mike Hanley in the Relay? Do you, Mister, 
honest?” 

“Ho! Ho!” cried Mr. Grough. “So that’s 
it, is it? You refuse to answer my questions 
and then you turn right around and ask me one. 
Is that fair, Dan? Well, anyway, I’ll answer 
both questions: mine and yours. The answer 
to my question is this: You hit Mike Hanley 
because he made a disrespectful remark about 
me, didn’t you? Yes; I thought so; I w r as 
conceited enough to think it. And the answer 
to your question is this: Yes; I believe you, 



62 


REARDON RAH! 


boy, with all my heart—and why? Because 
you said so; you said you didn’t foul him! 
Wliy do they want to call you a liar? Why 
should they? Why shouldn’t they take your 
word for it when you said it was an accident, 
even supposing it did look like a foul, and even 
supposing they counted the decision of the 
Judges against you, if need be?” 

Dan was crying. He left his seat, and 
kneeling down at the kind-hearted teacher’s 
chair, put his head on the arm, and could only 
say between sobs of pure joy: “Thank you, 
Mr. Grough! Oh, thank you, sir; thank you!” 

And then, as if suddenly recollecting some¬ 
thing, he raised his face to Mr. Grough, and 
with a troubled look: “But, Mr. Grough,” he 
said, “I was going to foul him, and just as I 
told the Devil to go to hell, that I wouldn’t, 
even if I had to lose the race, Mike stumbled. 
And then I shot ahead, and cut in just a wee 
bit and . . 

“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Grough, “I know; but 
you mustn’t worry about that. You were only 
tempted, you didn’t sin. Temptation is not 
sin. You did perfectly right, Dan, in telling 
the Devil where to go. That’s where he be¬ 
longs, not here tempting our little boys. But 
sit down, Dan; it’s uncomfortable kneeling 
there. This is not confession, either.” 

Then followed a long silence between the 
two. Mr. Grough sat with his finger-tips to- 


63 


14 AND I DID IT FOR HIM!” 

gether looking at the ceiling. Dan was study¬ 
ing the patch of mud on his shoe. But his 
thoughts w T ere elsewhere. Would he ask Mr. 
Grough the question in his mind? Yes; for 
obviously Mr. Grough was a clever man, and 
better still, he was the friend, Dan told himself, 
of everybody in trouble and difficulties—like 
Dan himself. 

“Well, Danny,” said the teacher, at last, 
“I’m waiting. Why don’t you ask it?” 

Mind reader! 

“It’s this, Mr. Grough, sir: You know I’m 
in a lot of trouble here at this school. I’m in 
Dutch completely. Can’t you tell me some¬ 
thing I can do to get me out? You ought to 
know something.” And mentally he added: 
“You seem to know everything!” 

“Well, let me see now,” said Mr. Grough. 
“Well, yes, I can. But you’ve got to do it. 
Will you?” 

“Yes, yes; anything!” cried Dan. “What is 
it, quick, sir!” 

Mr. Grough leaned forward in his chair, and 
looking Dan straight in the eye, whispered: 
“Pray! P-r-a-y: pray!” he spelled. 

Dan’s high hopes fell with a crash. 

“Pray! Mister, pray?” he wailed. “Why, 
I have prayed, and what good does it do? Any¬ 
way, I don’t know how to pray; it doesn’t do 
any good; I can’t pray!” 

“Bosh, bosh! It will do good, and I’ll show 


64 


REARDON RAH! 


you how to pray and then you can. You 
know, Dan, all prayer doesn’t consist in saying 
'Hail Marys’ and 'Our Fathers.’ One of the 
best ways is like this. Listen. Suppose, for 
instance, I want to know how to pray. Well, 
I go right down to Nazareth where Our Lord 
is, and tell Him my difficulties. I make things 
live and act before my mind’s eye. I see the 
little cottage where Our Lord lives with our 
Blessed Lady and Saint Joseph. I meet Our 
Lord at the gate. I say: 'Dear Lord, I’ve 
come to pay Thee a little visit, and have a little 
chat with Thee. I’ve got fearful difficulties to 
put up with. Why, Lord, I don’t even know 
how to pray!’ And then He tells you: ‘Come.’ 
And He leads you to the little oratory in the 
Holy House of Nazareth, and there you see 
Our Lady 'praying . And Our Lord tells you: 
T do not grant so great a favor to everyone as 
to pray like that. Some have to be content 
with offering up their good works as prayers.’ 

"And so you see, Dan, that’s just the way it 
is. Sometimes a man is too tired to pray, too 
weak in body and mind. He simply can’t say 
the prayers he usually says. So what can he 
do? He can offer up to Almighty God bis 
sufferings. He can say: 'Lord, I can’t pray; 
help me!’ Or, if things seem so very bad that 
you cannot think even that much, why not do 
as that pious bricklayer of whom I once heard. 
Every day when returning home after a long 


“AND I DID IT FOR HIM!” 


65 


day’s toil, he used to go into the church for a 
visit to the Blessed Sacrament. He used to 
but down his dirty bag of tools at his side and 
just simply sit there looking up at the 
Tabernacle for about ten minutes. Then he 
would get up, make a very reverent genuflec¬ 
tion, take Holy Water, and go out on the street 
again. And do you know, Dan, that poor man 
always had a smile on his face when he left the 
church. One day the priest met him as he was 
coming out, and said: ‘Hello, John; how are 
you today?’ ‘Oh, well enough, Father, thank 
you; I hope you are too.’ ‘I am, thank God,’ 
said the priest; ‘and I don’t wonder you are 
well, John. I see you praying here so often. 
But tell me, John; what do you say to Our 
Lord while you are sitting there so long?’ 
‘Why, nothing. Father—I just look at Him 
and He looks at me. Sure, He understands.’ 

“There it is, Dan. That’s the whole thing. 
Try that kind of prayer. Just go to Our Lord 
and when you look at Him, maybe you can hear 
Him say: ‘Now, Danny Reardon, I am well 
pleased to see you praying this way. Really 
I like it best of all.’ 

“Yes, Dan, I’m convinced,” continued Mr. 
Grough; “that’s the way to do it. Make it all 
live for yourself and do what I have supposed 
Our Lord might suggest: offer up your suffer¬ 
ings and try to overcome your difficulties. And 
after that, work as if everything depended on 


66 


REARDON RAH! 


yourself ; though of course, you know that you 
alone can do absolutely nothing. Do you 
understand what I mean?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Dan; “I think I do. You 
mean to kind of pretend you’re really right 
there talking to Our Lord.” 

“Exactly, Dan. That’s just it. And don’t 
forget your own efforts. That’s the . . 

Clang-a-lang-a-lang! It was the bell for 
dismissal of school. 

“Well, Dan,” said Mr. Grough; “run along 
now, and think over what I’ve said.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Grough; thank you, sir!” 

What are a boy’s difficulties, anyhow! 
***** 

He hae conned the lesson now; 

He has read the book of pain: 

There are furrows on his brow; 

I must make it sTnooth again . 


* 


CHAPTER SIX 

HOMAN HISTORY 

If there were dreams to sell. 

Merry and sad to tell , 

And the crier rang the hell , 

What would you buyf 

—Thomas Lovell Bedi>oes 

“ ¥_T EY, Mamma,” said Dan, looking up 

I I from his Morey’s Roman History, 
“Mr. Grough’s a corking guy!” 

“Danny!” exclaimed Mrs. Reardon, almost 
dropping her magazine with surprise. “You 
mustn’t refer to Mr. Grough that way. You 
must have more respect for one who will one 
day be a priest. Say he’s a ‘nice man,’ or some¬ 
thing like that.” 

“Aw, no, Mamma; Mr. Grough’s no ‘nice 
man’; he’s a corking good guy! That’s not 
disrespectful.” 

“Well—I suppose not, then; but what makes 
you think he’s a ‘corking good guy,’ Dan?” 

Dan told his mother the story of the day’s 
happenings at school. Mary and her father 
had gone to confession, and the quiet of the 

67 



68 


REARDON RAH! 


dining-room, where Dan had been trying to 
study, was conducive to a good confidential 
chat, such as Dan and his mother often enjoyed 
together. The boy usually felt easier and more 
encouraged after a talk with his mother, not 
simply and solely because she was his mother, 
but because she was one of those rare souls this 
dear old world possesses who invite confidence 
just by being as they are: men and women of 
deep human sympathy. Such never have to 
ask you: you just tell them your woes. Yes; 
Dan’s mother was one of these good friends 
God had put in his way, and now he was be¬ 
ginning to feel the same way toward Mr. 
Grough. 

Mr. Grough’s little acts of kindness to Dan 
when everyone else seemed to be against him, 
had won his heart, and with true boy’s hero- 
worship, he had enthroned Mr. Grough on an 
inner shrine and was paying him homage. 
There was hardly anything Dan would refuse 
to do for Mr. Grough. And truth to tell, many 
another at Botolph’s thought he himself and 
no other was the special object of the genial 
teacher’s attention. 

”Yes siree, Mamma,” said Dan as he finished 
his story of the day’s events, “Mr. Grough’s a 
corking good guy!” 

Yes, I agree with you, Dan. It was indeed 
most kind of him to give you such splendid ad¬ 
vice. I do hope you’ll try to follow it now, and 


ROMAN HISTORY 


69 


then there won’t be any more trouble. And 
Mamma’ll pray for you too, Danny boy. But 
let’s not talk any more. You’re neglecting your 
lessons. Get to work again, like a good bov.” 

“Aw, it’s only Roman History,” said Dan. 
“Anybody could learn that, easy!” 

Dan drew his book toward him and opened 
at random. It was page 260 —a place far be¬ 
yond his regular lesson for the next day. He 
was about to turn to the proper place when his 
attention was arrested by a picture under which 
was the legend: “Boy with Calculating 
Board” 

A Roman boy, eh? What were boys like in 
those days? Evidently they had to study 
Arithmetic. Unlucky dogs! They were not 
any better off in those days than now, in this 
respect. Dan just loved Mathematics! Now 
there was the picture of that Roman boy with 
his counting board. He too looked as if he just 
doted on Arithmetic! See the delighted—naj r , 
the charmed, enraptured expression on his face 
as he stands there, the board on one arm and 
his finger pointing to one of the little beads 
of the abacus: He seems to be saying: “Who 
on earth, or under the earth, ever invented 
Arithmetic anyway!” 

Yes, yes; that charming study, Mathematics, 
thought Daniel Reardon. 

Then Dan’s thoughts wandered farther and 
farther into the boydom of Roman times. He 


70 


REARDON RAH! 


was no longer sitting at the dining-room table 
at home. His mother was not there either. 
He was not even in Washington, D. C. And 
it was not the year of Our Lord nineteen 
hundred and fourteen. But Dan was standing 
on a street in Ancient Rome, and the time was 
. . . Oh, about seventeen hundred years ago. 

Mind! Dan was not asleep! (That is, so 
he always and ever after stoutly claimed!) He 
was then, according to his honest word, wide 
awake and making use of Mr. Grough’s way 
of praying. Only, of course, he was not 
praying. He was just making the times and 
the people—especially the boys of Roman days 
live vividly before the eye of his young and 
active imagination. 

And this is what Danny saw. 

Tarsicius was a Roman boy of thirteen years. 
His father was Secundus, a quarryman; and 
his mother the gentle and timid Agatha. 

Just at the moment that Dan Reardon took 
himself out of the twentieth century and 
placed himself back nearly two thousand years 
to the times of ancient Rome, he saw Tarsicius 
standing irresolutely on the corner of one of 
the busiest of the streets of Rome. A look of 
anxiety was evident on the dark face of the 
Roman boy, and as Dan stood watching from 
the other side of the street, Tarsicius seemed to 



ROMAN HISTORY 


71 


take on a new spirit of resolution, and pushed 
forward. , 

Tarsicius and Dan were by no means alone 
on the street. It was a holiday, and Rome was 
abroad in holiday attire. The people all 
seemed to be going in the same direction. 
Whither? Dan was wondering. Why not ask 
that little boy? He was about Dan’s age, and 
would make a good companion, perhaps; for 
if this was a holfday, and sports—Roman 
sports too —were the order of the day, then 
Dan Reardon must not miss the fun! 

Dan hurried across the street, and dodging 
deftly in and out among the crowd, managed 
at last to overtake Tarsicius. 

“Say, Felluh,” began Dan, “where you 
goin’? What’s all this crowd about? What’s 
doin’ ?” 

Tarsicius started. 

“Non intellego ” replied Tarsicius vacantly, 
but apparently neither frightened nor sur¬ 
prised at being addressed by a real, wide¬ 
awake, twentieth-century, American boy. 

“ *Non intellego repeated Dan, equally at 
a loss. And then, as the light dawned, he said 
half aloud: “Oh, yes! 'Intellego—intellegere 
— intellexi—intellectus / third conjugation; 
means ' understand,! And 'non 3 means 'not! 
He means he doesn’t get me! Wow! I can’t 
talk Latin!” 

The two were drifting along with the merry 


72 


REARDON RAH! 


crowd, Tarsicius surveying his new-found com¬ 
panion, and Dan looking straight ahead with 
a puzzled expression, wondering how on earth 
he was going to make this Roman boy under¬ 
stand English. Finally with many a gesture 
of near-despair, Dan continued aloud: 

“Well, . . . er ... tu ... tu (yes, tu; 
that’s right anyway), have got to . . . er . . . 
intellego! Ego . . . er . . . can’t talkere 
Latin worth a ... er ... a cent . . . er 
. . . I mean pecunia. What . . . er . . . 
no; quid est goin’ on? What est the crowd 
quatuor? Ubi are they ivit, y 'know, goin’ ?” 

Then Presto! By magic—the magic of 
Dan’s “imagination” (as he sat with his Roman 
History book open before him on the dining¬ 
room table)—by magic Tarsicius understood! 

“Why,” said Tarsicius in perfect English, 
“they’re going to the games in the Circus 
Maximus. You know, the Circus Maximus, 
where the Emperor persecutes us Chris . . . 
O-o-o! I forgot!” Then eyeing Dan closely, 
he continued: “Say, are you a Christian?” 

“Of course I am!” boasted Dan. “A Roman 
Catholic!” 

“Sh!” cautioned Tarsicius, raising a finger of 
warning. “Don’t say it so loud, or maybe you’ll 
take part in the games! A big lion’ll get you! 
But, oh, goody!” continued the boy with almost 
girlish glee, “I’m so glad you are! Won’t you 
come with me to the Circus? My father’s 


ROMAN HISTORY 


4 


. . . Say, what’s your name anyway? Mine’s 
‘Tarsicius.’ ” 

“ ‘Tarse’-what?” asked Dan, with a comical 
twist on his lips. 

“ ‘Tar*sish-us’!” pronounced the other slowly, 
laughing. "What’s yours?” 

“Mine’s ‘Dan,’ ” said Dan, putting out his 
hand. But as Tarsicius made no move to take 
it, Dan reached out and gave the little Roman 
boy his first good, hearty, American handshake. 
“Shake hands, Tarsicius; glad to know you! 
But say, ’scuse me, I don’t like long names: 
I’m going to call you ‘Tarse’ for short, if you 
don’t mind. Now, Tarse, what were you going 
to say about your father?” 

“Sh! I’ll tell you later, Dan,” returned 
Tarsicius in a whisper. And taking Dan by 
the hand, he edged up closer. The crowd was 
thicker now, and more boisterous. Slaves were 
shouting for passage-way for their noble 
masters. Soldiers heated with much wine and 
the sun’s hot rays were pushing and shoving 
and singing ribald songs. Boys and girls, men 
and women—all were talking at once. 

“What place is this?” asked Dan. 

“The Circus Maximus,” answered Tarsicius. 
“Come with me. The gates will open soon, and 
I know a good way to get in.” 

High up under the purple canopy, which 
through the munificence of Nero had been 


74 


REARDON RAH! 


erected to keep off the scorching sun from the 
people as they viewed the games, sat Tarsicius 
and Dan. It was like pictures you see in the 
Sunday papers, showing the vast crowds 
attending the Harvard-Yale football game in 
the Stadium, except that the brilliance of this 
scene was immeasurably greater than any of 
which the Twentieth Century in all her glory 
could ever boast. The purple canopy through 
which the sunlight filtered, spread a delicate 
glow over the faces and bright dresses of the 
people. On the right of our youthful friends 
was the magnificent box of the cruel Emperor 
Nero. Rich tapestries hung from the marble 
railing, reaching almost to the sands of the 
arena. Gold and velvet was the throne of the 
monarch, and silver and silken the seats of his 
favorite courtiers. Dan looked on with rapture 
at the gorgeousness of Ancient Rome. 

“The Emperor! The Emperor! lo 
triumphe! The Emperor! Long live the 
gracious Nero!” 

The mob was wild with shouts. The imperial 
court stood bowing low, as Nero, the most 
cruel of Rome’s emperors, her most pampered 
and highly flattered, and the greatest coward 
that ever lived, entered and with a fat show and 
mockery of gracefulness sank languidly into 
the soft and scented cushions of his throne. 

Nero waved his pudgy, jewelled hand for 
silence. 


ROMAN HISTORY 


75 


“Let the games begin!” was the imperial 
command. 

A program of the most refined barbarity had 
been arranged for this particular holiday. 
There was to be contrast—two kinds of sports 
widely different. Nero and the people—but 
more especially Nero—were to glut their 
savage appetites for spilled Christian blood, 
first of all by witnessing helpless women and 
children devoured by wild beasts of the African 
jungles. No timid creatures without life were 
the lions and tigers for today. Without food 
for two whole weeks, they had been daily tanta¬ 
lized. They were wild beasts indeed. Then 
would come the crowning sport of the day: a 
giant Christian would wrestle with a huge bear. 

But the “Games” were beginning. Dan 
Reardon grasped Tarsicius firmly, fiercely, by 
his thin little arm, for down there in the arena 
stood a group of some fifty Roman boys and 
girls huddled closely together. And slowly 
out of the sand was arising, propelled from 
chambers below, a huge cage containing five 
raging bellowing lions. 

Three slaves shuffled across the sand from 
the left with long, sharp-pointed poles. With 
these they goaded the beasts to greater fury, 
and as a slave standing on top of the cage pre¬ 
pared to open the gate, the others fled for the 
door on the left. The Christian boys and girls 



76 


REARDON RAH! 


knelt and with uplifted hands began to pray, 
not for deliverance, but for martyrdom. 

A cold shudder passed down Dan’s back and 
his grasp on Tarsieius’ arm tightened. 

The gate was open. With roars and furious 
leaps the lions bounded toward the Christian 
children. 

Dan covered his face with his hands. He 
could not look. Tarsieius gazed without show 
of emotion, until he saw the lions stop short 
before the boys and girls, still roaring, but not 
attempting to harm a hair of their heads. 

“Look, Dan!” whispered Tarsieius. “Our 
Lord won’t let ’em hurt ’em!” 

Dan looked up, and truth to tell, saw the 
lions walking round and round their intended 
victims. 

“Off with their heads!” roared that other 
lion, Nero. 

Once more Dan covered his face, and when 
he looked up again, the lions were no longer 
to be seen, and large red stains were upon the 
yellow sand. He felt sick and weary. 

“Let’s get out of here,” pleaded Dan. “This 
is awful!” 

“No, no; not yet,” whispered Tarsieius. 
“I’m afraid about my father. He didn’t come 
home from the quarry yesterday, and Mamma’s 
afraid he was captured. You know, they were 
looking for a big strong man to wrestle with 
the bear, and Papa’d be just the man. He’s 


ROMAN HISTORY 


77 


awful strong; he . . . O-o-o! There he is! 
Oh, Dan, look, there’s Papa, and there’s the 
bear. Sweet Jesus, have mercy!” 

Nero had left his throne and was leaning far 
over the rail of his box. 

“Bravo! Christian giant! Bravo!” he was 
shouting. “Twist him! Twist him! A little 
more! Just a little! His back is nearly 
broken! Don’t lose your feet! Ah! That’s 
it! By Jupiter, you have him! Well done! 
The Christian wins! . . . What, coward, you 
weaken! Here, slaves! The sword, the sword! 
If he weakens more, slay them both! Nero 
will not see a Roman, even though he be a 
Christian dog, vanquished by a beast!” 

Two slaves ran forward with swords. 
Tarsicius’ father, Secundus, was surely 
weakening. Long and well had his giant frame 
wrestled with the bear, but the strain was 
telling on his strength. 

Far up on the rows of seats Dan Reardon 
was watching the contest through tears. Little 
Tarsicius sat tensely forward, and his lips 
moved in prayer: “Good Jesus, have mercy! 
O Son of Mary . . . Mamma and I ... we 
need him, Lord!” 

“Bah!” roared Nero, “I spit upon you, 
Christian dog! If you were not a Christian 
dog you would win! Die then, for a Christian 
dog of a coward! Slaves, the sword!” 


78 


REARDON RAH! 


And following the example of His Imperial 
Obesity, the thumbs of all the populace were 
turned down! 

Dan! Dan Reardon, what think you of the 
troubles of Tarsicius? 

* * * * * 

If there were dreams to sell , 

Merry and sad to teU, 

And the crier rang the bell. 

What would you buy? 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


TARSICIUS TROUBLED NO MORE 

Vd a dream tonight 
As I fell asleep , 

01 the touching sight 

Makes me still to weep: 

Of my little lad 

Gone to leave me sad . . . 

—William Barnes 

“T> IGHT up this street, Dan,” said 
|j% Tarsicius, after the two boys had left 
^ the terrible games far behind. “Right 
up here is where we live. Come on, let’s 
hurry, it’s getting late and I know Mamma 
will be worrying about me and . . . and about 
Papa.” 

The little black-haired Roman boy’s voice 
choked a bit when he mentioned his father, and 
he looked straight ahead up the narrow, dingy 
street. Dan, who had not spoken a word since 
they left the Circus Maximus, glanced quickly 
at his companion, but was unable to detect the 
least sign of a tear on his blanched cheek. Dan 

79 


80 


REARDON RAH! 


had liked Tarsicius from the start, but now he 
admired him as well. 

Tarsicius led the way into his poor and 
humble dwelling, a house shared by several 
families. In through the low entrance he went, 
and passing through a dark hallway, entered the 
still darker room at the rear of the house. 

“Mamma,” called Tarsicius softly. 

“Yes, yes!” was the answer from a couch in 
the corner. “Here I am, Tarsicius. Is that 
you, Seeundus?” 

“No, Mamma; this is my friend Dan. Ill 
make a light.” 

Shortly the little brass lamp was lit, and in 
the low smoky light Dan could distinguish the 
form of Agatha lying on the couch. She w r as 
leaning on one elbow, and the anxious gaze she 
fixed on Tarsicius betrayed that she had 
already begun to suspect the truth about her 
husband. 

“Tarsicius! Tarsicius! Oh, mv little bov!” 
she cried, holding him fast by the hand. “I 
know, I know! The good Master be praised! 
Your father is now a witness to our sacred 
Faith; he’s in Heaven! But oh, Tarsicius, it’s 
hard, hard, hard . . Exhausted, the frail 
woman sank back on the couch, and could only 
murmur the one word, hard , hard, hard, over 
and over again. 

“I know. Mamma,” said the boy ; softly, 
smoothing back his mother’s wandering hair, 


TARSICIUS TROUBLED NO MORE 81 


as he knelt beside her couch. “I know; but you 
mustn’t worry, or it’ll make you nervous and 
sick like you used to be. Now try to be quiet 
and rest a little. And think of this. Mamma: 
I’m going to take Papa’s place now. I’m 
going to work hard, and we’ll never want for 
anything; and we’ll move away from this old 
place and live in a fine house; and you’ll have 
slaves to wait on you, and you won’t have to 
work at all; I’m going to do the work and get 
rich. And won’t that be fine. Mamma, now; 
won t it though!” 

The poor woman could admire Tarsidus’ 
enthusiasm, but could catch but little of it. She 
smiled faintly and said: “Yes, yes; mother’s 
boy must be her big man now.” 

Agatha rested quietly for a while, but soon, 
as the realization of her loss made itself more 
deeply felt, a shaking and shuddering con¬ 
vulsed her whole frame. She grasped the 
sides of the couch and trembled from head to 
foot. 

“Mamma, Mamma!” cried Tarsicius in alarm. 
“Don’t do that! Oh, Dan, what’ll we do?” 

Dan was standing close to Tarsicius, beside 
the couch, knowing as little what to do as 
Tarsicius. 

Presently Agatha quieted. 

“It’s all right now,” she said feebly. 

Throughout the long night the two boys sat 
watching by Agatha’s bedside, Dan busily en- 


82 


REARDON RAH! 


gaged with a thousand thoughts that came and 
went as in a dream; Tarsicius doing little kind¬ 
nesses that eased his mother's discomfort. To¬ 
ward morning Agatha was resting quietly, her 
attacks of extreme nervousness quite abated. 

“Isn’t it near time for you to go to the 
Bishop, Tarsicius?” asked Agatha. “He ex¬ 
pects you, dear, for the Holy Sacrifice, you 
know.” 

“But, Mamma, I can’t go this morning and 
leave you, can I?” 

“Oh, yes, you can. I’m all right now. See, 
I can sit up. And I believe I can walk.” 

Agatha struggled weakly to her feet, and 
leaning on the boy’s shoulder, crossed the room 
and sat down at the small window. 

“But, Mamma, I don’t want to leave you 
now,” persisted Tarsicius. 

“My boy will do as I say,” said Agatha 
firmly. “He always has!” 

It was in the Roman Catacombs, those 
underground burying places and dank stuffy 
holes into which the early Christians were 
forced by persecution in order to practice the 
sacred rites of their religion. In one of the 
low-ceiled chapels the Holy Sacrifice of the 
Mass was just finished. Tarsicius had served 
the Mass, and the Bishop, who had celebrated, 
was speaking in a low voice to the boy. Dan 
could hear his words. 


TARSICIUS TROUBLED NO MORE 83 


“Trebatius is not here this morning, 
Tarsicius. I must send you to the prisoners 
with Our Lord’s Sacred Body for the food of 
their weary souls. You will be most careful?” 

“Most careful, my Father!” answered 
Tarsicius eagerly, his innocent face aglow with 
the anticipation of carrying so sacred a burden. 

“Then come,” said the Bishop. And lead¬ 
ing Tarsicius to the altar, he took from a 
golden vessel a small parcel of neatly wrapped 
linen cloths. Tarsicius opened his tunic and 
the Bishop placed the parcel within the folds. 

“Go,” said he, “and may He whom you bear 
next your heart protect you in the way! Lord 
Jesus!” prayed the Bishop. “Bring our 
Tarsicius safely to Thy suffering members im¬ 
prisoned for Thee, that they may refresh their 
souls with the Food which dying for us Thou 
didst so lovingly provide!” 

“Amen!” answered Tarsicius. “Procedamus 
in pace, in nomine Domini. Amen.” 

Once more Tarsicius and Dan were together 
on the streets of Rome, and soon new ad¬ 
ventures were to provide the twentieth century 
boy with food for thought. 

It was near nine o’clock—as Dan reckoned 
time—in the morning. As the two boys drew 
near the prisons, they saw at a little distance a 
group of large boys, about sixteen or seventeen 
years of age, playing in the street. Their 
game was a strange one. One of their number 



84 


REARDON RAH! 


stood with arms stretched heavenward, his 
eyes rolling gTotesquely. From time to time 
he would utter deep guttural noises. Another 
stood by with a vessel of water pouring it on 
the head of the first. The other boys stood 
round roaring with laughter and shouting: 
“Hail to the Christian! Hail to the baptized of 
water!” 

“They’re mocking Baptism,” whispered 
Tarsicius to Dan, and placed his right hand 
tightly over his heart, where he carried his 
sacred trust. “Let’s pass right on and pay no 
attention.” 

The two quickened their pace and were just 
passing the Pagan boys, when one of their 
number cried out: “Ho! Tarsicius, come join 
our game. He who guesses not my riddle must 
be washed for a dirty Christian. You were 
ever bright in school. Come, join the game!” 

“Ay!” came the chorus of voices, “Come!” 

Not stopping, but looking back, Tarsicius 
replied: “Not today, Corvinus; I must hurry 
home, my mother’s ill.” 

“His mother! Ho! Ho! Capture him, my 
men! He shall play our game! By Jupiter, 
he shall!” 

Tarsicius stopped short and faced his ene¬ 
mies. He still held his hand clasped to his 
breast. 

The boys surrounded Dan and Tarsicius, 
and Corvinus, the leader, stepping up, tried to 


TARSICIUS TROUBLED NO MORE 85 


drag Tarsicius with him by the hand he held to 
his breast. 

“Come!” he growled. 

Dan’s first instinct was American. He was 
on the point of reaching Corvinus a blow with 
his clenched fist, but he found himself mys¬ 
teriously rooted to the spot. No one seemed to 
pay any heed to his presence. It was terrible! 
There they were trying to drag his buddy, Tar¬ 
sicius, away, and he, Dan Reardon, fourteen 
years old and a thousand years a fighter, was 
powerless to help him. He could only watch in 
agony of mind what was going on, for the boys 
had dragged Tarsicius some twenty feet away, 
and Corvinus was bidding him in menacing 
tones to put both hands by his sides. 

“Never!” cried Tarsicius, his brown eyes 
flashing fire of defiance, and interiorly his 
gentle heart praying to the God resting on his 
breast. 

“Ill make you!” roared Corvinus, roughly 
snatching at Tarsicius’ arm, which the boy kept 
closely across his breast. But tug and tear at 
Tarsicius’ frail arm as he might, Corvinus 
could not move it an inch. 

“Set upon him, my lions!” commanded Cor¬ 
vinus. “I know, he’s a Christian carrying an 
enchantment. Beat him! Well get it and see 
what it is!” 

The boys needed no encouragement. They 


86 


REARDON RAH! 


leaped forward as one man, and bearing Tar- 
sieius to the ground, they beat and struck him 
unmercifully. Never a sound escaped the little 
boy’s lips, except the prayer: “Jesus, my Lord, 
for Thee!” 

Dan was in agony. Why couldn’t he move? 
Still they were beating Tarsicius. Some even 
had clubs, and already Dan could see a big gash 
in the boy’s forehead. Dan screamed in his 
anger, but move, he could not! 

And now Corvinus was clearing back his 
“lions.” Dan looked on with bated breath. 
There on the ground lay Tarsicius. He was 
not breathing. He lay quite still, with his right 
arm clasped as firmly as ever across his breast. 
Blood was flowing from his mouth and nose, 
and from the gashes in his forehead and temple. 

“Thus die all Christian dogs,” cried Cor¬ 
vinus, striking an attitude in imitation of the 
Emperor. “Thus die all . . . Run! Fly! 
Here comes an angry Christian soldier! 1 
know him well. Quadratus will kill us all! 
Fly!” 

Off down the street scampered the Pagan 
boys; and as Quadratus, a tall, broad-shoul¬ 
dered centurion flashed by, and stopping, bent 
over Tarsicius’ form, Dan at last felt able to 
move. He tried and found that he could. 

“Is he dead?” asked Dan, bending down be¬ 
side Quadratus. “I know where he lives. But 


TARSICIUS TROUBLED NO MORE 87 


wait!” he cautioned, as Quadratus attempted to 
lift the dead boy. “Wait!” 

Putting his hand close to Quadratus’ ear, 
Dan whispered: “He has the Blessed Sacra¬ 
ment w r ith him—in his tunic. I w r as with him. 
He was taking It to the prisoners.” 

Gently Quadratus took hold of Tarsicius’ 
firmly-clasped hand, and to Dan’s surprise, was 
able to draw it away from his breast. Opening 
the tunic, Quadratus took out the linen cloths, 
reverently unfolded them, and . . . empty! 

“A miracle!” cried Quadratus. “God w r ill 
protect Himself when His little messenger 
cannot ! Come, lead the w r ay to his home.” 

A curious crowd of men, women and children 
had gathered. The mighty Quadratus gently 
picked up the body of the First Martyr of the 
Blessed Sacrament, and pushing his w r ay 
through the crowd, followed Dan to Tarsicius’ 
home. 

Now a new difficulty presented itself. How 
break this news to the already distraught 
mother of the boy? Dan was puzzling and 
racking his brain for a scheme, when on turn¬ 
ing the corner into the street w T here Tarsicius 
had only yesterday led the way to his home, he 
beheld a crowd assembled in front of the very 
house he w T as now seeking. Dan grasped 
Quadratus by the arm and held him back. 

“Look!” he whispered hoarsely. “What’s 
that crowd in front of his house? Oh! look, it’s 


88 


REARDON RAH! 


the soldiers! They’re taking his mother away! 
By jingoes, they won’t either, or my name’s 
not . . 

Dan started forward on a run, his fists 
clenched and his eyes blazing. And as he ran, 
it seemed to him that the soldiers saw him com¬ 
ing. They too, with a cry of alarm, began to 
run. Wildly did Dan pursue. Through the 
streets, out to the edge of the city, far into the 
country, through strange lands raced the sol¬ 
diers, with Dan ever at their heels. They drew 
near a city. The scene seemed familiar to Dan. 
Why! It was Washington! He had raced 
back from Rome, out of the third into the twen¬ 
tieth century again, leaving behind him Tar- 
sicius, his little Roman friend, a Martyr of 
Christ, whose troubles were now no more! 

Suddenly . . . 

4 Danny! Danny! Wake up! You’ve been 
asleep there at the table for over an hour. Bet¬ 
ter go to bed now. It’s after ten o’clock.” 

Dan sat up with a start. Had he been 
asleep, after all? So it seemed. His reverie, 
his make-believe had turned into a dream. But 
whence the story of Saint Tarsicius? How had 
he gotten into the dream? Oh, yes; Dan re¬ 
membered now: he had been reading Cardinal 
Wiseman’s Fabiola that very afternoon. 

“All right, Mamma,” said Dan, and going 


TARSICIUS TROUBLED NO MORE 89 


over, he kissed his mother good night. There 
was a fervor in his kiss. 

***** 

Vd a dream tonight 
As I fell asleep , 

O! the touching sight 

Makes me still to weep: 

Of my little lad 
Gone to leave me sad 


• • • 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


A SECRET 

1 have done one braver thing 
Than all the worthies did; 

And yet a braver thence doth spring: 

Which is to keep that hid . 

—Rudyard Kipling 

D AN REARDON awoke the next morn¬ 
ing with the comfortable realization 
that the bright January sun was usher¬ 
ing in a holiday. It was Saturday: no school! 
No need to get up yet. Another little “snooze.” 
Rut finding that nine hours, not counting the 
hour’s nap at the dining-room table, had been 
quite enough to satisfy the needs of nature, 
Dan turned over on his back and lay studying 
the pattern of the ceiling paper. 

Presently his thoughts wandered back to the 
dream of the night before. And that reminded 
him of Saint Tarsicius. And the fact that 
Saint Tarsicius was a boy, reminded him of the 
fact that even though today was a holiday, 
what was the use? For he had no one to play 
with—nor did he feel like reading. 

90 


91 


A SECRET 

But that boy Tarsicius! What a fine lad he 
was! He too had difficulties, but . . . 

A sudden light! In a moment Dan was out 
of bed, and in a minute more dressed and down¬ 
stairs. Breakfast was a matter of about ten 
minutes, and in exactly thirty minutes after 
receiving his inspiration, Dan was ascending 
the steps of Botolph High School. 

“May I speak to Mr. Grough a minute, 
please? Please tell him it’s Dan Reardon.” 

“All right, suh; I ring his bell, suh; you-all 
jes’ have a seat, suh. He be right down, if’n 
he’s home, suh.” 

‘‘Yes, sir! Mr. Grough, that w r as the corkin’- 
est dream I ever had! And gee! Mister, that 
kid was a wonder! You should have seen him 
in the Circus Maximus. His poor father was 
wrestling with the bear and he was praying all 
the time. And when his father was killed— 
when they cut his head off—he never cried a 
bit, but you could see he felt it terrible though. 
And he was so good to his mother when she was 
sick. And the way he held on tight to the 
Blessed Sacrament when those big fellows were 
beating him—Oh, wffiat a brave kid! I think 
he’s the finest fellow I know: and I kind of 
feel that I know him yet, don’t you know. But 
of course it was all a dream, and when I got 
making believe I was back in ancient Rome, I 
fell asleep, I guess; but I’m not sure exactly 



92 


REARDON RAH! 


that I was really asleep all the time; and Car¬ 
dinal Wiseman’s Fabiola was running in my 
head, like.” 

Dan was full of enthusiasm. He and Mr. 
Grough sat in the Prefect’s Office, where Dan 
had just finished telling the story of his dream. 

“So you think Saint Tarsicius is quite a fine 
boy, do you?” said Mr. Grough. “Well, I do 
too. We agree on that point. But isn’t there 
something else that strikes you about him, 
Dan? Doesn’t your dream remind you of 
something?” 

Dan thought a moment in silence, and then: 
“No, sir; I can’t think of anything special. 
What do you mean, please, sir?” 

“I mean this, Dan. Listen. That dream of 
yours is really something providential: Do you 
know what ‘providential’ means ? God let you 
have that dream with a purpose. Recollect 
now the troubles you have been having lately. 
You were feeling pretty blue, weren’t you, 
because you had so much to put up with; be¬ 
cause you were misunderstood and treated un- 
fairly ? Isn’t that so ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And then, the other day you asked me what 
you could do to make matters right. And I 
told you to pray. Well, here you are now with 
a wonderful example before you. You im¬ 
agined that nobody but you had any difficulties 
to contend with, that you were quite perse- 


A SECRET 


93 


cuted. Now, not only is that not true—for lots, 
yes, all other boys have troubles too—but the 
boys of our day haven’t nearly so much to put 
up with as the boys, say, of the times of Saint 
Tarsieius. 

“Do any American boys have to go to the 
Circus Maximus and see their fathers’ heads cut 
off? And if their mothers and sisters, or they 
themselves are sick, they have skilled physi¬ 
cians and gentle nurses to take care of them. 
Why, they even ride in a street car or an auto¬ 
mobile when they go to Mass. And they don’t 
have to hear Mass in a stuffy old hole under 
the ground where people lie buried. Neither 
do they have to hide the fact that they are 
Catholics, for fear of losing their heads. How 
many boys now-a-days are beaten to death be¬ 
cause they are Catholics? Isn’t all this the 
truth?” 

“Yes, sir; but . . 

“Now, then,” interrupted Mr. Grough, “you 
just compare Saint Tarsieius’ case with your 
own. You admire him so much: but I am sur¬ 
prised that you don’t profit by his example. 
After all, what are your little troubles com¬ 
pared with his? And he naturally so weak 
and unfitted to bear them! Which would you 
rather take: a licking from one of your com¬ 
panions such as you got and worried so much 
about, or see your father put to death? Or, 
would you rather be beaten to death yourself. 


94 


REARDON RAH! 


or lose a miserable little relay race and be mis¬ 
understood for a while ? Which V ’ 

“I think I got off easier than Tarse,” mut¬ 
tered Dan. 

“Of course, it’s perfectly true,” continued 
Mr. Grough, “that as a general rule, physical 
suffering is easier to bear than mental agony. 
But Tarsicius had both. You had only a little 
worry. And even supposing you had as much 
to put up with as he, don’t you think you ought 
to be as much a man as he was? Are you going 
to let a delicate little Roman boy outstrip a 
sound American lad in courage and manliness ? 
You see, Dan, I am very frank and plain with 
you. You make your own difficulties twice as 
bad as they really are. I think you ought to be 
more manly. What do you say?” 

Dan was as thoughtful and serious as a 
judge. 

“Yes, sir,” he admitted reluctantly; “I guess 
you are right. But, just the same, I’m still in 
the same old hole. It’s no use kidding myself 
about that. Nobody in this school trusts me 
but you. Don’t you think I ought to go to 
another school and start all over again?” 

“By no means! Did Tarsicius run when 
those ruffians attacked him? No siree! He 
stood and faced them. And even though he 
was put to death, still, in the eyes of God and 
all men too, even to this very day, he is a little 
hero! Oh, Dan, be a man! It’s hard; and 


A SECRET 


95 


you’re young and inexperienced; but try it, and 
I’m willing to promise you that God will re¬ 
ward your generosity and make things all right 
again. Are you going to try?” 

Mr. Grough stood up and Dan with him. A 
light of earnestness seemed to dance in the 
kindly teacher’s eye and an air of expectancy 
marked him as he waited for the lad’s answer. 

At last it came: “Yes, sir; I will try!” 

“God bless you!” said Mr. Grough. “So, it’s 
this way, then: We’re not to expect to be with¬ 
out difficulties when we start out on our school 
career, or even in after life, but we are to meet 
all difficulties and with prayer and the help of 
God’s grace and our own manly efforts, over- 
come them. That’s the way!” 

Mr. Grough opened the Office door and 
motioned Dan out. The two walked in silence 
along the deserted Second Year corridor to¬ 
ward the street door. 

“Sh! What’s that?” whispered Mr. Grough. 

Both stood still. There was a noise in one 
of the classrooms—a low, grating, scratching 
sound, as of someone perhaps prying open a 
desk drawer. 

Noiselessly Mr. Grough tiptoed to the door, 
motioning Dan to wait where he was. Gently 
the teacher turned the knob and pushed open 
the door about six inches. Dan was in a posi¬ 
tion commanding a view of the teacher’s desk, 

and he started violently when he looked 

%/ 


96 


REARDON RAH! 


through the open door and saw Mike Hanley in 
the act of prying open one of the drawers. 

Aha! (thought Dan) there’s either money in 
that drawer, or he’s after the Mark Book to 
find out somebody’s marks. Dan caught him¬ 
self rejoicing that Mike was detected in a piece 
of business like this. 

Mr. Grough gently closed the door again. 
Mike had not seen the teacher. 

‘‘You saw?” whispered Mr. Grough. 

Dan nodded assent. 

“Then wait for me at the other end of the 
corridor.” 

Dan tiptoed away, and taking his position at 
the other end of the hall, saw Mr. Grough push 
open the door, enter, and close it after him. 

For nearly an hour Dan Reardon waited by 
the window for Mr. Grough to reappear, con¬ 
jecturing, as naturally he would, what might 
be going on inside the classroom. Dan had a 
struggle with himself to keep away unchari¬ 
table suspicions and to fight down an almost 
Satanic joy over the fact that Mike Hanley 
was caught—caught “red-handed.” 

At last the door opened and Mike Hanley 
came out, followed by Mr. Grough. Mike’s 
eyes were red from much weeping. This much 
Dan took in at a glance, and straightway began 
looking out the window. 

“Dan!” called Mr. Grough; “come here a 


A SECRET 


97 


moment. We (and he stressed the pronoun) 
wish to see you a moment.” 

What was. . . . 

A dramatic moment of silence fell upon the 
three as they came together in the deserted cor¬ 
ridor of Botolph High School. Wonderment 
and inquiry were stamped on the countenance 
of Dan Reardon; shame flushed that of Mike 
Hanley; while a kindly smile played about the 
lips of the teacher. At last the tense silence 
was broken. 

“Dan,” said Mr. Grough, in quiet even 
tones; “Mike and I have something to tell you. 
When I first opened the classroom door, I was 
sorry you had seen what was going on inside. 
But when I knew that you had seen, I realized 
I must ask you to wait, so as to caution you to 
say nothing about it. Well, as things turn out, 
I’m mighty glad you did see inside the room. 
Dan, it’s another stroke of God’s providence! 
And it’s a proof of what I was telling you a 
while ago. Didn’t I say that if you tried to 
act manfully and overcome your difficulties, 
God would bring things out right and settle the 
situation for you? Yes, that’s just what I said; 
and here now I have my proof. 

“Our friend Mike here wishes me to tell you 
that he’s sorry he has done so much to make you 
disliked here at school, and that if you are 
willing, he will do his best to repair all the 
injuries he has done you. And, Dan! think of 


98 


REARDON RAH! 


it! He admits that you were right: he says 
that you did not foul him in the Relay Race! 
Don’t you, Mike?” 

Mike was crying. Clumsily pulling out his 
handkerchief, he wiped away the big tears and 
faintly answered: “Yes, sir.” 

Dan looked in open-mouthed amazement 
from Mr. Grough to Mike and from Mike to 
Mr. Grough. Would wonders never cease? 

“But how . . . er . . . how . . .” 

“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Grough, laughing; “I’m 
coming to that. Cheer up, Mike! Mike wants 
you to know about that too. It was this way: 
Mike was tempted to find out the examination 
marks before the reports were sent home. He 
reasoned that if his marks were very low, his 
father would be angry and give him a fearful 
scolding—and perhaps worse. Now Mike 
couldn’t think of that. So he determined to get 
his report from Mr. Fenton’s desk and change 
any marks that needed changing. Well, to 
make the story shorter, I saw him in time to 
prevent not only that, but lots of other trouble 
that would have come of it. So Mike ami I 
had a sensible little chat, and we finally deter¬ 
mined that you and he would make up and be 
good friends again, set each other good ex¬ 
ample, help each other in difficulties—you both 
have them, you see—and ... all like that. 
Of course Mike will study harder in the future 
and thus forestall the need of changing his 




A SECRET 


99 


report. I have his promise as a gentleman for 
all this, and now I want your promise too, Dan, 
that you are going to be Mike’s friend. What 
do you say? What would Tarsicius say?” 

“With all my heart!” cried Dan warmly, 
putting out his hand to Mike. “Shake, Mike, 
old scout!” 

“God bless you both!” said Mr. Grough. 
“And now if you boys will not accuse me of 
preaching you a sermon, I will read you some 
wise, wise words. A holy man named Kempis 
wrote them. Let me see, where are they?” 

Mr. Grough drew out of his pocket a small 
black book, and swiftly turning over the pages, 
found the place. 

“Ah! Here it is. Listen: 

“ ‘But now having recovered thy spirit after the 
storm, grow thou strong again, in the light of My 
mercies; for I am at hand, saith the Lord, to repair 
all, not only to the full, but even with abundance and 
above measure. 

“ ‘Is anything difficult to Me? Or shall I be like 
one promising and not performing? 

“ ‘Where is thy faith? Stand firmly and per- 
severingly; practice endurance and manly courage; 
comfort will come to thee in due season. . . . 

“ ‘Thou must not judge according to thy present 
feeling, nor give thyself up in such manner to any 
trouble, whencesoever it comes, nor take it so as if 
all hope of deliverance were gone. . . . 

“ ‘And without doubt it is more expedient for thee 



100 


REARDON RAH! 


and the rest of My servants, that you be exercised in 
adversity, than that you should have all things ac¬ 
cording to your inclination. I know . . 

“Listen carefully now: this is for both of 
you . . . 

“ ‘I know thy most hidden thoughts, and that it is 
very expedient for thy salvation that thou sometimes 
be left without any savor of sweetness, lest perchance 
thou be puffed up with good success, and take com¬ 
placency in thyself, imagining thyself to be what thou 
art not.’ 

“There!” finished Mr. Grough. “I was 
reading that just this morning. My dear 
young friends, if the words are not too heavy 
carry them about with you and think them 
over. They’ve settled more serious difficulties 
than yours.” 


***** 

i have done one braver thing 
Than aU the worthies did; 

And yet a braver thence doth spring: 
Which is to keep that hid . 


CHAPTER NINE 


THE BOTOLPH MIDGETS 


With a light word he took 
The hearts of men in thrall: 

And , with a golden look , 

Welcomed them , at his call 
Giving their love , their strength , their all . 


—Lionel Johnson 


OOD morning, Mr. Grough!” 
“Good morning, Mr. Grough!” 



VJ Wv/vl iilV/X A'-A-l • VJI 1 • 

“Oh, hello there, Mike! Hello,Dan! 


How are things going? Making any prog- 


“Oh, Mr. Grough, we’ve got the swellest 
scheme,” said Dan. “I bet you’ll say it’s a 
corker. Mike thought of it first. You tell him, 
Mike.” 

“Yes, do, Mike; I’m wonderfully interested. 
What is your plan?” 

“Well, sir,” began Mike; “you see, it’s this 
way. You see, today’s Monday morning and 
on the way down to school Danny and I were 
thinking how would we fix it up to let all the 
fellows know there are no more hard feelin’s 


101 


102 


REARDON RAH! 


’tween Dan and me—I mean, me and Dan. 
’Cause you see, Mister, a fellow can’t exactly 
go around to everybody and say: ‘Hey, you 
know that Relay and etcetera, and why, Dan , 
Reardon, why, he’s a good scout,’ and all that 
sort of junk. They’d all laugh and say: ‘How 
do you get that way?’ So I thought it’d be a 
good scheme if Dan and I wouldn’t hardly say 
anything a-tall, but just hang around every¬ 
where anybody can see us and show ’em we’re 
real buddies by bein’ always together, like two 
pieces of flypaper when they come out of a new 
boxful. You know, sir, stick-together-like, and 
just kind of show ’em—you know what I mean, 
sir.” 

“Why, yes, Mike, I think I see the point,” 
smiled Mr. Grough. “ ’Tis a good idea, in¬ 
deed. It’s only eight o’clock and this corridor 
will soon be filling with boys of all the classes. 
I’d advise you to stay around here—or, if you 
like, go down to the gym once in a while. But 
what are you going to do if some boys make 
remarks? Had you thought of that?” 

Spoke up Dan: “Why, let ’em, Mister, just 
let ’em! Mike and I’ll just kind of smile and 
keep on sticking together and make out we’ve 
got something we ain’t going to tell. That’ll 
get their goats.” 

“Yes,” chided Mr. Grough, “that ought to 
arouse their curiosity. Daniel, don’t use such 
fearful slang. Run along now and carry out 




THE BOTOLPH MIDGETS 103 

your scheme. And oh, yes . . . by-the-way, 
I’ve got some news for you chaps: Fin sure 
you'll be glad to hear it.” 

A chorus: “News, Mister? What is it? A 
holiday?” 

“No, no; not that; something much better. 
I’ll tell you after school this afternoon . . . 
when you come to tell me how your scheme 
worked out. Be good now; I have work to do 
before class begins. Please excuse me.” 

“Aw, Mister!” 

“No; not now; see you after school.” And 
with his usual radiant smile, the teacher was off 
down the long corridor toward the Office of the 
Prefect of Discipline. 

“I wonder what he means?” 

“Something great, I’ll bet,” said Mike. 
“Lookit! Here comes Timmy Kenney. You 
ready? Come on!” 

“Yep!” 

Arm in arm the two lads strolled leisurely 
down the corridor talking low in a most confi¬ 
dential manner. As they passed the wide-eyed 
Timmy Kenney, a boy of Dan’s own class, they 
raised their voices a little and Dan was heard to 
remark: 

“Why, Mike Hanley, you know I can’t run 
worth a dime. You’d give me forty yards in 
the hundred and beat me to the tape by ten. 
Now wouldn’t you though?” 

“Bunk!” returned Mike. “How could I 


104 


REARDON RAH! 


when I know the way you licked me so clean in 
the Relay that day!” 

Timmy Kenney had stopped short in his 
tracks at the first impassioned declaration, and 
turning, followed the two with his uncompre¬ 
hending stare. And at Mike’s rejoinder his 
bag of school-books dropped to the floor. 

“Holy Cats!” declared Timmy Kenney. 
“Will you listen to that!” 

But Dan and Mike only walked along as 
lover and beloved. 

Not many minutes later the stage was set 
again, and a similar scene was enacted for the 
benefit of two lads from Mike’s class. The 
actors enjoyed themselves with many a giggle 
when they beheld the surprised countenances 
of their audience. 

Down in the gymnasium only a few were 
“shooting baskets,” though it was now half- 
past eight and ordinarily two or three distinct 
games of basketball would have been in full 
swing on one and the same court! But some¬ 
thing had stopped the games, for little groups 
of five or six were standing here and there, and 
from their midst from time to time came re¬ 
marks : 

“Yes, sir! I heard him say so myself. He 
says: ‘Of course you can, Danny, old top; of 
course you can outrun me any old day.’ Now 
whadda you think of that?” 

The warning bell rang for class. The later 


THE BOTOLPH MIDGETS 


105 


arrivals of the upper classes were hurrying to 
their rooms. Dan and Mike stood beneath the 
bright light in the middle of the corridor. 

“Well, see you at recess, old deah!” said 
Mike, affectionately slapping Dan on the 
shoulder. “Got to look over the Latin Mem. 
before the last bell. S’long, now, and good 
luck if you get called yourself.” 

“S’long, Mike; be good!” returned Dan, and 
as the two separated to go to their respective 
rooms, they saw not Father Brown standing 
nearby, lips parted in a smile; nor could they 
hear the remark he addressed to himself: 

“That Mr. Grough is surely a wonder!” 

The short recess at eleven o’clock and the 
hour at noon for lunch were but repetitions of 
the doings of the earlier part of the day, so that 
by the time classes resumed for the afternoon 
session, there was scarcely a boy left in all 
Botolph’s who was not talking about the 
strange case of Dan Reardon and Mike Han¬ 
ley. Best of all, comment was favorable. 

“Gosh! I think it’s great of Hanley,” said 
Bobby Daley, “to pick up with that kid again, 
after the way things happened in the First 
Year Track Meet. I don’t think I’d have done 
it, if . . .” 

“Yah! Yah! Be careful, Bobby; don’t say 
Dan fouled Mike in that race. I heard Mike 
tell Charlie Burke he’d knock his block off, or 


REARDON RAH! 


106 


anybody else’s, if they said that/’ warned Con¬ 
nie O’Leary. 

“Yes,” chimed in little Georgie Monahan; 
“and he told me to lay off kidding Dan or he’d 
be forced to slap my wrist. But he just better 
not, or I’ll get Charlie Connolly to slap him 

back P 

And so, when the bell rang for the last hour, 
it happened that Dan Reardon and Mike Han¬ 
ley were the largest topic of conversation in all 
the school. Dan and Mike themselves were 
having the time of their lives. How they en¬ 
joyed the mystery of it all! How they would 
laugh at the puzzled looks of the boys! 

“S long again, Mike, old fellow; see you 
after school. Remember: Mr. Grough said he 
had some news for us.” 

“S’long,” returned Mike cheerily, as the two 
parted once more for their classes. 

Nearly half-past two! How slowly drag the 
last few minutes of the last hour of the day in 
school. Dan’s class was busily engaged at a 
written exercise. Dan himself had finished the 
allotted task and was lolling back in his seat 
thinking over the events of this all too happy 
day. If only every day were like this! No 
troubles, no difficulties to be overcome. This 
was too good to last very long, he thought. 
Oh, well, what the difference if “jinxes” did 
turn up once in a while. He had promised Mr. 


THE BOTOLPH MIDGETS 


107 


Grough he would try to be a man the best way 
he could, at least better than he had been . . . 

A knock at the door. A Notice is handed in. 
Mr. Manton, the teacher, reads it quietly to 
himself. He smiles. All! something good! 
Teachers usually frowned when they did not 
like the contents of a Notice —at least they did 
not smile when . . . Quietly Mr. Manton re¬ 
placed the Notice in its envelope and handed it 
back to the Beadle, who returned it to the wait¬ 
ing messenger. Expectant eyes were turned 
on Mr. Manton, but all dropped to their tasks 
again when the teacher bade the boys continue 
their work. 

At last rang the dismissal bell. 

“One moment, please,” announced Mr. Man- 
ton. “I did not wish to interrupt your exer¬ 
cises. The Notice just delivered is a message 
from the Assistant Prefect of Discipline, Mr. 
Grough. He wishes it announced to all boys 
of First and Second Years that those interested 
in trying out for a Botolph Midget Basketball 
Team are requested to report in the gymna¬ 
sium this afternoon at two-forty-five o’clock. 
I would like to add a remark of my own: at 
least one or two boys in this class ought to make 
that team.—The prayer, boys.” 

* * * * * 

The large gymnasium was thronged with 


108 


REARDON RAH! 


boys from every class, but most in evidence 
were the lads of thirteen and fourteen years of 
age. All were shouting, arguing, laughing, 
boasting personal prowess as a basket-tosser; 
it was a juvenile Babel. 

But now silence reigns. Mr. Grough has 
mounted a small rostrum and at his side stand 
the basketball Coach and the President of the 
Yard, Harry Wren, of the Fourth Year Class. 

Mr. Grough begins his speech. 

“Young gentlemen of the First and Second 
Years: You are justly proud of your athletic 
teams in this school. They have won you many 
honors on the diamond, the track, the gridiron, 
the rink, and on the basketball court. I am 
going to speak chiefly of your basketball team. 
Already the season has begun and four vic¬ 
tories with no defeats are to our credit. We 
have high hopes that we shall run through the 
season without a single defeat.” 

“Hurray!” from five hundred youthful 
throats. 

“Now, boys, you all know that we cannot 
keep the same team from year to year, even if 
we wanted to do so. Yet we must have good 
players in order to win games. Can any boy 
here suggest a scheme by which we can train 
up our young players, so that they may take 
the places later on, left vacant by boys who 
graduate?” 


THE BOTOLPH MIDGETS 


109 


“The Midgets! The Midgets! Hurray! 
Hurray!” from five hundred youthful throats. 

“The very thing!” continued Mr. Grough. 
“I see you have caught my meaning. Now this 
is our plan: Our good Coach here, Mr. 
McCabe (loud cheers), cannot add this new 
burden to his duties as varsity coach. But he 
has agreed, if I will coach the Midget teams 
myself, to pick the players for us, in order to 
make up six squads of ten players each. These 
will form six teams in the Botolph Midget 
Basketball League . The only conditions to be 
fulfilled in order that a boy may compete, are 
two: first, he must be in good standing with the 
Office; and secondly, he must satisfy the Coach 
that he can play basketball. I have the list here 
of those in good standing with the Office. If 
your name is on this list you may enter the try¬ 
outs, which begin now. That is all. Mr. 
Coach, are you ready?” 

“All ready, Mr. Grough,” declared the big 
Coach. 

Never in the long history of Botolph High 
School were there so few late-comers as on the 
following day, when bright and early the boys 
were on hand to see the lists posted on the A. A. 
bulletin board, announcing the names of the 
successful candidates for the six Midget 
Teams. 


110 


REARDON RAH! 


“What do you say, if we stop in the Chapel 
first, before we look at that sign, Mike?” sug¬ 
gested Dan, as the Inseparables (their new 
nick-name) trotted along the corridor. 

“Yeh, and ask Our Lady to put us both on 
the same team, huh?” added Mike. 

They did so. It was only a moment they 
stopped, but Mr. Grough had seen them from 
his place in the rear. (Mr. Grough was often 
to be found in the Chapel. People grew accus¬ 
tomed to looking for him there before seeking 
elsewhere.) 

“Their prayer is answered, all right,” whis¬ 
pered Mr. Grough, as the Inseparables has¬ 
tened out. 

The neatly-typewritten bulletin hung high 
on the board. A large crowd—though it was 
but eight o’clock—was gathered around. Ju¬ 
venile Babel again. 

The Inseparables edged in as close as they 
could, eagerly reading the names: Team No. 
1: The Ace Midgets —no, not there; Team No. 
2: The Bee Midgets —no, not there; Team No. 
3: The Celt Midgets —no, not there; Team 
No. 4: The Dodge Midgets —no, not there; 
Team No. 5: The Elf Midgets —no, not there; 
but great guns! Only one more team left: 
The Fay Midgets: the names! Feverishly 
Dan was muttering them half aloud: John 
Long; Edward Murphy; Ernest Gouthro; 
George Monahan; Thomas Coughlin; Cecil 



THE BOTOLPH MIDGETS 


111 


McGoldrick; James Farrell; John Eeker; 
Michael Hanley and Daniel Reardon ! 

The Inseparables looked at one another. 
“Oh, Dan!” cried Mike. 

“Oh, Mike!” cried Dan. 

“Hey! Get off a my foot and step on my 
head a while, you big Umph!” screamed a 
justly injured boy. 

i 

***** 

With a light word he took 
The hearts of men in thrall: 

And y with a golden look , 

Welcomed themy at liis call 
Giving their love , their strength , their all . 


CHAPTER TEN 


A SILVER LINING . . . 

Say not the struggle naught availeth , 

The labor and the wounds are vain , 

The enemy faints not y nor faileth , 

And as things have been , they remain . 

—Arthur Hugh Clough 

M AYBE I don’t feel nervous, Mike. 
Wowzo!” exclaimed Dan as the In¬ 
separables wended their way up to 
class. “Mr. Manton sprung a good one all 
right by inviting Father Mercer to the debate. 
How can I talk before him? It’s bad enough 
when only the fellows are there.” 

“Aw, I know,” returned Mike, striving to 
put comfort into his voice, “but you’ll do all 
right. You know your speech by heart, don’t 
3 "ou? Well, just stand up and speech it. 
Father Mercer won’t hurt you. S’long now, 
and good luck!” 

Dan turned a rather unsteady tread into his 
classroom just as the final bell sounded for the 
afternoon session. He took his place and 
responded to the prayer with fervor. 

112 


A SILVER LINING . . . 


113 


This was Friday afternoon, March 16th, and 
the hour in which Mr. Manton’s boys held their 
weekly class debate. The question for today 
was: Resolved: “That participation in ath¬ 
letics is more beneficial to progress in studies 
than detrimental.” The Affirmative was to be 
defended by Joseph Ryan; the Negative by 
Daniel Reardon. New interest w^as felt this 
week, because Mr. Manton had suddenly an¬ 
nounced at the close of the morning sessions 
that the class was to be honored by the presence 
at the debate, of the Reverend Prefect of 
Studies, Father Mercer. It was desirable (Mr. 
Manton said) to have Father Mercer see for 
himself, how r well- the youthful orators con¬ 
ducted themselves. 

Now all was in readiness; the teacher’s desk 
had been removed from the rostrum, and on 
each side was a small table and chair. To the 
right near the corner was a large chair awaiting 
its occupant, the Reverend Prefect. 

A dread silence overhung the classroom. No 
boy stirred, though the teacher w r as not present. 
Presently the door opened and Mr. Manton 
stepped in, followed by Father Mercer. 

The boys all rise. Mr. Manton now ushers 
Father Mercer to his place and retires to the 
rear of the room. 

“Be seated, boys,” directs Father Mercer. 

John Thomas O’Hea, President of the Class 
and eoc officio Chairman of Debates, rises from 


114 


REARDON RAH! 


his place and with great dignity mounts the 
rostrum. 

John begins in low even tones. 

“Reverend Father Prefect of Studies, Re¬ 
spected Professor, and Fellow Classmates: We 
are singularly honored today by the presence 
here among us at our humble debate, of one 
whose interest in our welfare as students of 
Botolph High School, is always manifest. We 
wish to thank you, Reverend Father, for this 
new encouragement you have given us. 

“The question before the House today reads 
as follows: Resolved: That participation in 
athletics is more beneficial to progress in studies 
than detrimental. 

“I take great pleasure in introducing the 
speakers of the afternoon: (Dan mops his per¬ 
spiring brow with his handkerchief.) Mr. 
Joseph Ryan, upholding the Affirmative; and 
Mr. Daniel Reardon, defending the Negative. 
The gentlemen will proceed with the debate.” 

Mechanically Dan takes his place at the little 
table. With assurance Joe Ryan does the 
same. Now Joe mounts the rostrum. With a 
bow to Father Mercer, Joe begins: 

“Reverend Prefect of Studies, Respected 
Professor and Fellow Classmates: There are 
many people in this world who seem to take 
delight in running down everything good they 
see round about them. Such at times are the 
opponents of good athletics, the clean kind, like 


A SILVER LINING . . . 


115 


we have in this school. How can anyone deny 
that athletics are more beneficial to progress 
in studies than detrimental, if they only use 
their head for a minute. Let me show you, 
gentlemen. Take the case, f’r instance, of the 
boy who’s out for a team. He makes the squad. 
The coach says he’s a great find. He wins 
games for the school. But you say, how about 
his studies? He’s played a hard game of foot¬ 
ball on Saturday afternoon. He’s tired out. 
(Dan writes something on his pad.) He can’t 
study, you say. He’s too tired. But I ask you, 
gentlemen, hasn’t he got all Saturday night to 
rest up in? Can’t he come home after Mass on 
Sunday and do his lessons then? He certainly 
can, and he will too, because he knows that if 
he doesn’t know his lessons on Monday morn¬ 
ing, why, he’ll be reported to the Office and he’ll 
be taken off the squad. So what does he do? 
Why, that’s easy: he studies. And why does 
he study? Because he wants to keep in ath¬ 
letics. Therefore I say, athletics are more 
beneficial to studies than detrimental. (Dan 
again writes on his pad.) 

“Now, gentlemen, my opponent will tell you 
that athletics are more detrimental to studies 
than beneficial. That’s prob’ly what the gen¬ 
tleman of the Negative’ll say. And he prob’ly 
thinks that way, because people say boys think 
about nothing but baseball and football and 
don’t have any time for anything else. (Dan 


116 


REARDON RAH! 


writes on his pad. He is nervous and from 
time to time takes out his speech to look over 
what he has written.) Now all that’s bunk—I 
mean, nonsense. They have time for their 
meals, don’t they; and to go to church; so why 
can’t they have time to study? Gentlemen, I 
think it’s silly to say anything else. 

“And now, gentlemen, my last argument. 
If any man thinks that athletics are more detri¬ 
mental to studies than beneficial, as my honor¬ 
able opponent will prob’ly say, why then, 
why does such a man ever go into athletics? If 
he does, he can’t be reasonable. He’s doing 
something he thinks isn’t good for him. (AH 
eyes on Dan. Dan writes on his pad.) No¬ 
body would take a dose of medicine if he 
thought it would do him more harm than good. 
And so it would follow that many people would 
be going into athletics when they think it would 
be worse for their studies than if they stayed 
out. 

“Gentlemen, I’m sure you’ll agree with me 
that athletics are more beneficial to studies than 
detrimental. Gentlemen, I thank you.” 

All clap. Joe is seated. Dan rises unstead¬ 
ily as the Chairman announces: “The speaker 
for the Negative, Mr. Reardon.” Large beads 
of perspiration stand out on Dan’s forehead. 
He mounts the rostrum. His heart stands still. 
Phew! Look at all those faces gazing at me! 
He drops his eyes. His shoes are shined any- 



A SILVER LINING . . . 


117 


way. His mother made him do that this morn¬ 
ing. I can’t look at them again or I’ll forget 
what my speech is, that I spent so much time 
writing. The little pad? Yes, I’ve got that. 
My handkerchief? Uh-huh. Right here. I’ll 
wipe my forehead. If I (jlon’t begin soon 
they’ll be . . . He slowly raises his eyes again. 
Those faces! For the love of Mud, don’t look 
at me! Ah, he begins! 

“Reverend Father Prefect of Studies, Re¬ 
spected Professor and Fellow Classmates . . .” 

Long pause. 

No word of what he has written will return 
to memory. Tricky thing! His hand seeks his 
handkerchief again. Not there. Other pocket? 
Not there either. But the pad is. Out comes 
the pad. If he could only get the first word of 
that speech. He waxes wroth. Hang the 
speech! I’m going to say SOMETHING! 
They’ll be laughing in a minute. There’s 
Mickey Glavin grinning now. His eyes return 
to the pad. INSPIRATION! 

In a loud clear voice: 

“Gentlemen, I have noted down on this pad 
some things my honorable opponent has stated 
with regard to this debate. He says that I 
prob’ly will tell you that ‘athletics are more 
detrimental to studies than beneficial.’ Gentle¬ 
men, I certainly will not! I don’t believe it! 
And even if I did, I wouldn’t have to say it in 
this debate. If I want to prove my side of the 


118 


REARDON RAH! 


question, all I have to do is show you that the 
effects of athletics on studies are about equal. 
Why? Because the question says: Resolved: 
That 'participation in athletics is more bene¬ 
ficial to progress in studies than detrimental. 
Therefore, if . . . you see what I mean, gen¬ 
tlemen, ... if athletics do harm and do good 
too, but don’t do any more harm than they do 
good, why they don’t do more good than harm, 
if you get me. (Father Mercer suppresses a 
smile.) I don’t see why I have to change the 
question to prove my side of it. So you see, 
gentlemen, I prob’ly won't tell you athletics 
are more detrimental to studies than beneficial. 

“Besides, gentlemen, we’re not exactly talk¬ 
ing about athletics nor studies either; but about 
participation in athletics and progress in stud¬ 
ies. That’s what the question says. Now let’s 
take the example my honorable opponent gives. 
I admit that it’s a fine example of how bene¬ 
ficial athletics are to that fellow. He uses 
athletics right. That only proves that athletics 
are beneficial to studies. But does it prove that 
they are more beneficial than detrimental? Or 
has it got anything to do with progress in 
studies? Take another fellow who plays hard 
games and doesn’t want to study afterwards. 
In many cases he won’t and doesn’t. He 
doesn’t make any progress in his studies; he 
falls behind. Because why? Because he has 
participated in athletics. So there are your two 


A SILVER LINING 


• • • 


119 


fellows, gentlemen; one of them benefits by 
athletics—the other doesn’t, he takes harm. 
And the benefit and the harm in both cases are 
about equal. Hence what logical mind could 
say that one is more than the other, when it thus 
appears that they are both equal. 

“Now, gentlemen, about that other thing my 
honorable opponent said. He said: How can 
a fellow take part in athletics if he thinks they 
do him more harm than good? Well, I showed 
you first of all that’s not the question. He 
might ask: How could I, being an athlete, take 
part in them if I knew there was any harm? 
Gentlemen, my simple answer is: Because I 
believe that the harm in them is not greater 
than the good and because I’m like that fellow 
he speaks of, who tries to study anyway, even 
if he is tired after a game.” 

Dan paused. He looked around the room. 
There were the boys looking back at him with 
interest written all over their faces. How had 
he done it? What about his written speech? 
No time to give it now. It was his anger in the 
beginning which had given him his first im¬ 
pulse. The anger now cooled, Dan felt the 
stage-fright coming on again. Father Mercer 
was looking at him too. Dan began to tremble 
a little. 

“Gentlemen,” he stammered; “I guess . . . 
I ... I ... I guess I haven’t . . . got any 



no 


REARDON RAH! 


more ... that is, I kinda ... I ... I don't 
know ... I ain’t got any more to say.” 

Amidst deafening applause Dan took his 
seat, crimson to the roots of his hair; but not 
without a certain feeling of satisfaction in what 
he had done. 

“Reverend Father Prefect, and Gentlemen,” 
said Mr. Manton, when the clapping ceased at 
last, “the time is nearly up. We shall dispense 
with the usual rebuttals today, for we wish to 
hear a few words from Your Reverence. 
Hence, after the House has passed vote on the 
debate I would ask Your Reverence to address 
the boys.—Mr. O’Hea, the vote, please.” 

“All who judge that the merits of the debate 
belong to the Affirmative in view of superior 
elocution, reasoning and rhetorical style, please 
signify by raising the right hand.” 

The Chairman counts. 

“Mr. Secretary: fifteen. All those for the 
Negative?” 

The Chairman counts. 

“Mr. Secretary: fifteen. The Chair declares 
a tie vote. Our rules require in this case that 
the Chair cast the deciding vote. Mr. Secre¬ 
tary, my vote is for the Negative.” 

Applause! Joe heartily shakes Dan’s hand. 
Then silence, for Father Mercer has risen. 

“I congratulate this class and their excellent 
teacher, Mr. Manton, on the splendid showing 


A SILVER LINING . . . 


m 


given here today and thank you all for the 
privilege of being invited among you. I am 
not going to detain you long, but I do wish to 
impress upon you, boys, the great object-lesson 
you have been given today. I need not call 
your attention to the fact that both the debat¬ 
ers, as the stereotyped phrase has it, ‘conducted 
themselves with credit,’ but I fear there is one 
little element in today’s debate that may per¬ 
haps have escaped you. Did you not notice 
that one of the speakers was extremely nervous 
and ill-at-ease when he first rose to address us 
—so nervous indeed that he forgot what he had 
prepared as his speech? We felt sorry for him. 
We wished we could help him. The awkward 
silence was distressing. Then someone did 
help him: someone, or something made him 
angry—at least so it seemed, for then we were 
treated to such a flow of natural eloquence as I 
have seldom heard from one of such limited 
experience. The speaker threw himself into 
his subject and made us feel his own most 
intimate thoughts upon it. He attacked the 
position of his opponent (which was not alto¬ 
gether a weak position, by-the-way), and built 
up argument for argument in a manner very 
likely better than was contained in his written 
speech. 

“Now, boys, here is the point: feel confidence 
in the justice and truth of what you have to say 


122 


REARDON RAH! 


and you will be able to stand on your feet pub¬ 
licly and say it with equal confidence in your 
own powers to master the minds of your 
hearers. That is the object-lesson. I trust you 
have learned if well. 

“Your performance, boys, though highly 
creditable, was not without defect. That is 
only to be expected in aspirants so young. I 
am sure your Professor will point these out to 
you. I noticed, for instance, that both speakers 
kept saying: ‘athletics are ; whereas, ‘athletics 
is/ I believe, is preferred. 

“I urge you to keep up your good work, so 
that next year, when you shall be eligible for 
one or other of the school’s public debating 
societies, you will be so much the better 
prepared. 

“To conclude, I add just one other remark: 
about the merits of the question itself. It was 
very cleverly worded. This we began to realize 
during the course of the debate. There is much 
to be said for both sides of this question, but if 
you will allow me to put the question this way: 
Resolved: That athletics does too little good 
to be countenanced in schools—then I say there 
is nobody who can justly defend the affirma¬ 
tive. Use athletics rightly and athletics will 
use you rightly. As always in this world, it’s 
the abuse, not the use, of indifferent things 
which does the harm.” 


A SILVER LINING 


• • • 


123 


Clang-a-lang-a-lang! 

“Ah, the bell bids me cease. Advice is good, 
but it must not be administered after the time 
for the dose. I am told there is to be a certain 
championship basketball game this afternoon. 
I intend to be there, boys, just to show you how 
highly I esteem athletics—especially the kind 
conducted in our school.” 

Remarks heard in the corridor, on the way 
downstairs to the basketball game: 

“Some debate, I’ll say!” 

“Yep, and some debater, that boy Reardon.” 

“I thought he was going to keel over, when 
all of a sudden he bangs right into Joey’s argu¬ 
ments! Yea, Bo!” 

“How did it go, Danny?” eagerly asked 
Mike, as the Inseparables met at the dressing- 
room door. 

“Oh, pretty well,” returned Dan, with a 
modest flush of pleasure. 

“Pretty well? Didn’t you win?” 

“Close shave, Mike; won by one vote!” 

“Well, what are you kicking about? A win’s 
a wdn, ain’t it?” 

“Guess it is, Mike, old scout!” 

And without knowing just how the tune 
came into his head, Dan began to whistle softly, 
while dressing for the basketball game: 



124 


REARDON RAH! 


“There’s a silver lining 
Through the dark clouds shining: 

Turn the dark clouds inside out . . 

* * * * 

Say not the struggle naught availeth , 
The labor and the wounds are vain , 
The enemy faints not , nor faXLeth , 

as things have been , they remain. 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 


. . . AND A RAINBOW BRIGHT 

Up! up! my friend y and clear your looks; 

Why all this toil and trouble? 

—William Wordsworth 

S OMETIMES imagination, sometimes 
real things that happen, sometimes per¬ 
verse fellow-men—sometimes all of these 
at once, create storms for the soul. We 
shudder and tremble while such storms of 
desolation last, and fear lest one of those sharp 
bolts strike us. We apprehend nothing but 
danger and trouble on every side. Seek shelter 
under that big tree—the protection of a friend? 
No; what is the use? Lightning strikes trees 
too. A hundred avenues of escape from the 
storm assailing the soul present themselves, but 
only too often the afflicted one, the tired, al¬ 
ready drenched and weary one, sits down in the 
midst of it all and adds to the pelting rain, the 
salt of lonely tears. The world is all wrong. 
What is the use? Try as you might, the storm 
just continues. Not alone that: but storm 
after storm breaks and there is nothing but rain 

125 


126 


REARDON RAH! 


in the face and thunder in the ears and 
lightning to blind the eyes—yes; and to 
threaten life itself. What is the use ? It seems 
as though ’twould always rain, rain, rain. The 
popular song may tell us that it takes a little 
rain with the sunshine to make the world go 
round; but when you get nine-tenths clouds 
and rain. . . . 

Ah! the sun is shining now! Someone has 
spoken a kind word. Look over there in the 
western sky: the rainbow. Gorgeous colors. 
Graceful sweeping curve. And pot of gold at 
the end. Well, now, after all, you know, is not 
a storm worth going through; cannot rain be 
put up with; thunder is only noise; cannot 
lightning . . . well, now, after all, is not a 
storm worth having if only one may feast one's 
eyes on the rainbow bright at the end? Most 
certainly so! Right! Laugh, then; the colors 
bid you smile. The new brightness all around 
tells you to forget the darkness that was. Smile, 
smile! Laugh with j ov; for after all, the world 
is a good old world! Why! just listen to that 
little birdie sing! 

So felt our Daniel Reardon. 

Just fresh from his victory in the debate, he 
would have told you he was feeling fine. And 
would have is the proper phrase, for just now 
you could not have detained him long enough 
to put him even a monosyllabic question. Not 
only light of heart, but in his basketball uni- 


• • • 


AND A RAINBOW BRIGHT 127 


form, free of limb, he is at this moment disport¬ 
ing about the court, by far another Dan from 
the lad you met last November. Watch him! 
Can you assign a single just reason why there 
should be sorrow or trouble in that mind or 
body ? Minds troubled do not propel such agile 
bodies. See! he has the ball. He is free from 
opponents. Swiftly, deftly, he loops the 
leather sphere toward his breast ; upward and 
outw r ard at full arms’ length it speeds in a 
graceful curve through the air. (’Tis a rain¬ 
bow curve.) Its flight is true, for into the 
basket it drops without so much as grazing the 
rim! 

The shrill whistle of the Referee blows, and 
the scorer chalks up two points for the Fay 
Midgets! Cheers! 

What! the game has been going on all this 
time and we were idly moralizing! We shall 
be seated next to Mrs. Reardon and Mary, and 
with them watch this splendid game. But first, 
who are the contestants? It is the month of 
March, you know, and the basketball “season” 
is drawing to a close. In fact, this is the last 
game now being played. The Fay Midgets 
and the Ace Midgets are tied for first place in 
the Botolph Midget Basketball League. One 
or the other of these leading teams must win 
the Silver Cup. It is, therefore, a big day at 
Botolph High School. Nine hundred youth¬ 
ful student-spectators and many mothers and 


128 


REARDON RAH! 


sisters are cheering the players on. It is indeed 
hard to tell from the volume of sound, just 
which team is the favorite; nor will the score 
help you much to decide for yourself, if you 
are a betting man. It is now the second period 
of the first half and the Aces are leading by 
four points: 6 to 2. 

Ah, so that last basket which Dan caged for 
his side was the first score for his team? No 
wonder the cheers were loud; no wonder Mrs. 
Reardon smiled proudly and Mary squealed 
with nervous delight. 

Ha! they are lined up again. The Aces are 
shooting for the basket on our right; the Fays 
for that on our left. 

“The uniforms are just lovely,” was Mary’s 
comment when first the lads had trotted out on 
the floor. “Especially Dan’s team!” Maroon 
jerseys bearing a gold “F-M”; khaki trunks 
and maroon stockings with a gold calf-stripe. 
The Aces’ outfit was pretty too, Mrs. Reardon 
had remarked, in an effort to appear impartial. 
White jerseys bearing a blue “A-M”; blue 
trunks and blue stockings with a white calf- 
stripe. 

The Referee tosses up the ball. His whistle 
shrills as the ball reaches its highest ascent. 
The centers leap. Mike Hanley tips it to Tom 
Coughlin, right guard, who passes back to 
Mike, now waiting exactly on the foul line. 
Ernest Gouthro, right forward, has meantime 


. . . AND A RAINBOW BRIGHT 


129 


taken Tom’s place, who by now has reached a 
shooting position under the basket, where once 
more he receives the pass from Mike. But he 
cannot shoot: he is guarded. Dan at once 
eludes his opponent, and in order to do so, runs 
clear to the center circle. “Hee-ya!” he cries. 
Tom sees the opportunity and snaps the ball 
past his opponent just in time. It is a long, 
low, swift pass which Dan receives in mid-floor. 
He dribbles two yards closer, watching for an 
opportunity to pass either to Mike or to Tom. 
But both are guarded closely by their oppo¬ 
nents. Dan’s own opponent is even now rush¬ 
ing upon him. It is too far away for a shot. 
But he will chance it. Once more a perfect 
loop shot falls through the basket with a swish 
of the net and again the whistle blows, and the 
scorer changes the score: 6 to 4. 

Cheers! 

Well, it is a score and it counts, but it was 
mostly luck. The team-work as planned had 
not worked. Nor did it succeed in the four 
minutes of play yet remaining in the first half. 
Set plays somehow would not pan out. Signals 
were confused. There was fumbling. Jim 
Farrell, the Fays’ left guard, made an illegal 
dribble. Gay Wellings, the Ace Captain, shot 
the foul and the score stood 7 to 4. This was 
followed by a basket by Billy Noonan, the Ace 
center. Score now: 9 to 4. Another basket 
by Joe Ryan, Dan’s opponent of the debate 


130 


REARDON RAH! 


and now again on the basketball floor. Score 
11 to 4. Would the half never end? Yes; it 
would, for just as the Ace center let the ball 
fly again for the basket, the Timer’s gun 
banged, the whistle blew and the half was over. 

The scene is now the dressing-room. The 
players have donned their sweaters and sit on 
the benches along the wall. Mr. Grough enters. 
His position as Coach-of-all-teams is a difficult 
one. He must not show any partiality. His 
rule has been to point out mistakes after a 
game, never during one. But each Captain’s 
duty was always to gather his team about him 
between the halves and point out defects, give 
encouragement and judiciously place blame for 
mistakes made. 

“You boys of the Ace team, remain here for 
your consultation. Fays will go to the Senior 
dressing-room,” directed Mr. Grough. “Only 
five minutes remain before the second half 
begins.” 

The Fays trot away to the Senior dressing- 
room. 

“Come here, you fellows,” commands Mike 

Hanley, Captain of the Fays. “Lemme tell 

you fellows somep’n. You fellows know more 

basketball’n all the rest of this school put 

together. You got more basketball sense’n 

the whole citv of Washnun. You can shoot 

%/ 

and pass better’n the whole Unita States. But 


. . . AND A RAINBOW BRIGHT 


131 


lemme tell you, you’re playin’ this game 
rottener’n a ten-year-old egg!” 

The speaker paused and drew his sleeve 
across his forehead. 

“Can any wiseacre here tell me what’s the 
matter with this team? This one, I say—not 
the Aces. I know what’s the matter with them. 
They look good because we’re so bum. But I 
want to know what’s the matter with us? 
Somebody tell me. I don’t know. Fellows, 
I’m your Captain, but I can’t tell you what’s 
the matter: I don’t know. Hurry up now, 
somebody tell us, ’cause we got to know so’s we 
c’n win this game. Oh, fellows, we got to win 
this game. Ernest, you know?” 

Ernest Gouthro shrugged his shoulders. 

“Tom, you know?” 

Tom Coughlin lifted his eyebrows. 

“Jim, you know?” 

“All I know is we’re a buncha hams!” 
lamented Jim Farrell. 

“Any of you subs know; what about you, 
Dodo?” 

John Long had nothing to say. Nor had 
Murphy, nor Monahan, nor McGoldrick, nor 
Ecker. All were silent. 

Mike turned slowly and sadly toward Dan. 

“Dan,” wailed Mike, “you must know; tell 
us, old fellow, ’cause we just gotta win this 
game!” 


132 


REARDON RAH! 


Dan was silent: he merely shook his head in 
the negative. 

Mr. Grough put his head in the doorway and 
announced that the intermission was over. All 
must report on the court within two minutes. 

“Oh, Mr. Grough, sir,” cried Mike, catching 
the teacher impetuously by the arm. “ You 
tell us, sir, what’s the matter with our team. 
We can’t figure it out, sir; and we just gotta 
win this game!” 

Mr. Grough stood for a moment looking off 
into space. He bit his lip. His lips opened. 
They closed. Then, turning to Mike: 

“No, Michael,” said he; “you know I cannot. 
You know the rule I’ve made about giving you 
advice during a game. I must be fair to both 
teams. They’re both my teams, you see.” 

“But, Mister! Look at the score: 11 to 4! 
Why, sir, they’re all shooting baskets. Fellows 
that never shot before.” 

“Score: 11 to 4,” repeated Mr. Grough 
blankly. “They’re all shooting baskets. 
Fellows that never shot before. Maybe . . . 
No! I have nothing to tell you. Hurry! the 
bell will ring in just thirty seconds. Hurry, 
now!” 

And he was gone. 

“Hurray! Fellows, hurray!” screamed Dan. 
“I got it! Listen!” 

They crowded around. 

“Mike just said it: ‘They’re all shooting. 


• • • 


AND A RAINBOW BRIGHT 


133 


Fellows that never shot before.’ What’s that 
mean? 'Member? Mr. Grough told us long 
ago: when the shooting is scattered over a 
whole team, it means the other team is loose on 
its own team-work . So here’s our game for the 
next period: Close guarding by everybody. 
Don’t mind the score, but keep ’em from 
shooting. Come on! What say, Mike?” 

“Right-O!” returned Mike, as he led the way 
back to the court on the run. “No set plays; 
just break up theirs!” 

The first play the Aces attempted as the new 
half began was a double-back-criss-cross shift, 
a most confusing play and one that always 
takes an opposing team by surprise and 
generally nets a basket. The reason for its 
effectiveness lies in the fact that it generally 
draws both guards away from the basket in 
their attempt to follow the shifting forwards. 
Naturallv one’s own forwards would not follow 
shifting opponent guards, and thus the play 
calculates leaving two forwards unguarded to 
receive a pass from the center, who, if the play 
works well, has tipped the ball over his own 
head backward and recovers it himself, only to 
dribble away from his opposing center down 
to a passing point. If the center is too closely 
followed by the opposing center, one of the 
forwards comes back for a nearer pass, thus 
drawing off the opposing center from his man, 
who now takes a place under the basket. The 


134 


REARDON RAH! 


criss-cross element only serves to confuse the 

* 

other team. 

So much for the play itself. How did the 
Aces work it against the Fays? 

Ah, the ball is tipped off behind the Ace 
center. The forwards and guards have criss¬ 
crossed and exchanged positions. But so also 
have the Fay forwards and guards . Ace 
center recovers ball; dribbles closer to his 
basket. He is guarded by Mike, but neces¬ 
sarily from behind. Mike is worrying him. 
Ace center stops the dribble. He must either 
pass or shoot. He is too far away to shoot. 
He cannot pass, for all his men are guarded. 
He chances a pass. It is a low underhand. 
Mike deftly reaches out just enough and 
merely touches the ball, which deflects straight 
into the hands of Dan, who has rushed forward. 
Dan dribbles swiftly down the floor. He is 
met by the Ace center in mid-floor. He stops 
and passes to Mike, cross-court. The Ace 
center follows the ball, and collides with his 
own guard who is attempting to cover Mike. 
Mike receives the pass and returns it to Dan, 
and Dan to Mike again, who tries for the 
basket. A miss! The ball bounds off the back- 
board into Dan’s ready hands. Dan tries . . . 
and cages a basket! Score: 11 to 6. Pande¬ 
monium ! Ladies and girls hold hands to their 
ears! 

And so it went on. Play after play was 


. . . AND A RAINBOW BRIGHT 


135 


broken up by the Fays, due to their close 
guarding. They were not always fortunate 
enough to score after breaking up a play, how¬ 
ever, so that at the end of the period the score 
stood 11 to 8, in favor of the Aces. 

There was two minutes’ rest between 
periods, but during this time no player was 
permitted to leave the floor. Under their own 
basket were gathered in whispered consultation 
the Aces; while at the opposite end of the 
floor the Fays presented the same masonic 
aspect. Gay Wellings, Captain of the Aces, 
was exhorting his fellow players: 

“We still got ’em, fellows, we still got ’em: 
11 to 8. Now let’s do two things in this last 
period: number one: keep their score down to 
eight; and number two: run ours up to at least 
eighteen. We keep theirs down by not letting 
’em shoot when they’ve got the ball, and we run 
our score up by feeding mostly one man. And 
that man is Noonan. He’s our best shooter. 
Rather than take a chance on a shot yourself, 
if there’s any show a-tall, pass to Noonan. 
Yea, Bo! We’re going to win! Come on, now 
limber up w r ith a few shots.” 

At the other end of the room Mike Hanley 
was speaking as follows: 

“Fellows, we did it fine! We stopped ’em 
great! But stopping them isn’t the only thing 
to winning this game. It’s 11 to 8 now. Two 
baskets’ll put us ahead: one for each forward. 


136 


REARDON RAH! 


Dan will make the first, and Longie, who goes 
in the game from now on, will make the other. 
I and Tom and Jim won't mind the shooting 
so much, but keep on guarding hard. Let's get 
our scores quick, and then all we got to do is 
hold 'em down. And I guess we can do that. 
Dan, old top, you certainly had the right dope 
about team-work. More of it now, fellows, and 
this old game and the Cup are ours! Look out 
for fouls; we don’t want to break the uneven 
score, because ...” 

The bell had sounded. 

Once more the rivals face each other. The 
Referee tosses the ball in air, his whistle shrills, 
and lo! the feathers fly again. It is a simple 
play—so much the more surprise that it 
worked so well. Mike tips off to his right to 
Long, who comes forward. Dan has taken 
Long’s position. Mike now takes Dan’s 
position, and receives a pass from Long, but 
being too closely guarded by the Ace center, 
who has followed, he returns the pass to Dan, 
momentarily unguarded—and Dan stands 
exactly in the middle of the foul-circle. Dan 
makes a light loop, and the ball swishes through 
the basket. Score: 11 to 10. 

“Yea!” screams Dan. 

“Bo!” screams Mike. 

Loud cheers and clapping. 

Now follows nip-and-tuck playing. First 
the Aces, then the Fays possess the ball. There 


. . . AND A RAINBOW BRIGHT 


137 


are some random shots on both sides, but none 
is effective. Now, in an attempt to spoil a 
shot, Jim Farrell reaches out to slap the ball 
from Wellings’ hands. Jim has badly meas¬ 
ured the distance between himself and his op¬ 
ponent. His two hands strike Wellings hard 
across the wrists, and in a moment of forgetful¬ 
ness they rest on the other’s arm. 

Whistle! 

“You’re holding, Fays!” cries the burly 
Referee, placing one hand on Farrell’s shoulder 
and extending his other arm high in the air. 
“Two free trials for holding an opponent in 
the act of shooting. Personal foul number 
one!” 

“Don’t you mind, Jim,” consoles Mike. 
“He’ll never make ’em.” 

Joe Ryan, the crack foul-shooter of the 
Aces, stands on the foul-line. 

“Dead ball after the first shot,” warns the 
Referee. 

Joe measures the distance well with his 
practiced eye; speeds the ball sharply to the 
backboard. The ball rebounds, strikes the 
rim and . . . drops through for one point. 
Score: 12 to 10. 

Mingled cheers and groans! 

Joe Ryan sets himself for his second shot. 

“Ball in play after second shot, in case the 
point is not made,” admonishes the Referee. 

Nearly all the players of both teams are 


133 


REARDON RAH! 


grouped around the foul-circle and lane, each 
anxious for possession of the ball so soon as it 
might fail to enter the basket. Nearly all— 
but not all. Long is near the middle of the 
door running about with his opponent at his 
heels. Mike is close under the basket. Dan 
stands behind the foul-circle. A knowing look 
passes between him and Mike. Dan’s op¬ 
ponent is close beside him. 

A rooter for the Aces on the side-lines has 
noticed something. He shouts: “Better guard 
that basket.” But it is too late. The Aces 
have made their mistake. The ball has left Joe 
Ryan’s hands, and disconcerted by the rooter’s 
warning, his aim is poor. Immediately Dan 
races toward his own basket. Long has led his 
opponent toward the side-lines. Bang! the 
ball strikes the backboard, and six youths leap 
for its possession. Mike Hanley’s thin body 
leaps high in air. His arm reaches up and with 
open palm he pushes the ball toward Dan, who 
now has wheeled to receive it. He fumbles 
slightly, recovers, and is about to dribble down 
floor when he sees Long’s opponent rushing 
upon him. Long, now free at last, has made 
for his own basket. Just as Long’s opponent 
closes in on Dan, Dan passes swiftly to Long. 
Long now stands stockstill with the ball and 
coolly measures for a shot. The mob is breath¬ 
less. The onlv noise is that of rubber-soled 



. . . AND A RAINBOW BRIGHT 139 


shoes descending on Long, as both teams rush 
toward the Fays’ basket. 

A pretty loop! The ball is caged! Score: 
12 to 12. 

Ah, Babel were quiet as a monk’s cell, com¬ 
pared with the gymnasium at Botolph High 
School at that wonderful moment. All, all are 
cheering. 

One minute remains to play. How can be 
described the fever and the fierceness of the 
playing that ensued? Blood is in every eye. 
The last ounce of strength in every body is 
exerted to the full. Back and forth; round 
about; in and out; passing; dribbling; shooting 
occasionally, but alw r ays with a miss, flew the 
contending Aces and Fays. ’Tw r ould be a tie! 
An overtime period v r ould be necessary. But 
no! Look! Dan has broken loose. Ten 
seconds remain. Swiftly, surely, he dribbles in 
and out of a broken field from mid-court. He 
stops short. Joe Ryan bears down upon him. 
He shoots and follows his shot. The ball 
strikes the backboard, lands, on the basket’s rim, 
rolls round and round the edge. The ball 
drops . . . outside! But it falls into Dan’s 
waiting hands and straightway mounts once 
more basketward, just in time to escape Joe 
Ryan’s frantic thrust. Again the ball slithers 
around the basket’s edge. Once around . . . 
twice around . . . Bang! The Timer’s gun! 


140 


REARDON RAH! 


The ball drops into the basket! Whistle! The 
game is over! Score: Fays: 14; Aces: 12. 

What cheers! What screams! 

Look there on the court! Dan Reardon, late 
winner of the debate and but just now winner 
of the game and the Silver Championship Cup 
for his team, the Fay Midgets, of Botolph 
High School. All, sweet indeed is victory— 
how much sweeter than all that toil and trouble 
that used to be! From now on, then . . . 
Reardon Rah! 

* * * *• * 

Up! up! 7 ny friend , and clear your looks; 

Why all this toil and trouble? 


CHAPTER TWELVE 


“MEGALOCEPHALITIS” 

Amid the balmiest flowers that earth can give , 
Some bitter drops distil , and all that live 
A mingled portion share; 

But while he learns these truths which we lament , 
Such fortitude as ours will sure be sent , 

Such solace to his care . 

—Sara Coleridge 

T HIS chapter in the history of Daniel 
Reardon is borrowed bodily from the 
Diary of Daniel’s Guardian Angel. 

Frl, Mar . 16th: Tonight after he had gone 
to bed, he seemed too tired to sleep. He 
tossed about for a while, then lay on his back, 
gazing through the darkness. Presently he be¬ 
gan to talk half aloud to himself. I could hear. 
“My goodness, what a day! Let me see—I 
knew mv lessons fine. Then the debate. A 
fellow can stand up before the crowd and say 
what he’s got to say if he really wants to. I’m 
not going to be afraid of ’em from now on. 
I guess I’m just as good a debater as the next 

141 


142 


REARDON RAH! 


one and maybe a little better too, than some of 
'em. And oh! that game! I certainly did win 
it too. I got to admit that. Weren’t the 
fellows just wild about it all! Golly, I’m sorry 
the season’s over. I’d like to get in there and 
show ’em some real playing, I would.” I set 
these things down just as he said them, because 
I’ll probably wish to refer to them later on. 

Sat,, Mar. 17: I watched him closely at the 
dinner table this evening. His father wanted 
to know more about the debate yesterday. 
Dan explained very carefully how he had 
argued his opponent quite out of reason. He 
did most of the talking. Mrs. R. seemed very 
proud of him. Mary simply beamed. Once 
or twice I thought I heard her murmur: “My 
brother!” He w^as voluble enough in describ¬ 
ing his victory in the debate, but w r hen his 
father casually mentioned the game, the flood¬ 
gates of his speech simply opened wide and no 
one else was able to insert a w T ord edgewise. It 
was “I-this,” and “I-that,” and “I-the-other- 
thing.” I hope he gets over it all. I don’t 
. . . know. 

Sun., Mar. 18th: He met Rather Mercer 
and Mr. Grough taking a stroll this afternoon. 
He was on an errand for his mother to the 
drug store. He joined them for a few squares. 
Father Mercer said: “Well, Daniel, I certainly 
congratulate you on your success in the debate 
Friday. You were a credit to your class.” 


“ MEGALOCEPHALITIS ” 


143 


Mr. Grough said: “Yes, Daniel; I heard about 
that. Several of the boys told me you did very 
well indeed.” Dan answered: “Thank you, 
Father Mercer. Thank you, Mr. Grough. 
And, Father Mercer, what did you think of the 
basket-ball game? Wasn’t there some playing 
in that game?” 

Mon,, Mar. 19th: Today was the Feast of the 
Patronage of Saint Joseph, and a holiday. He 
scarcely knew what to do with himself. When 
he passed the sitting-room table, one of his 
schoolbooks fell to the floor, but he didn’t even 
pick it up. By eight o’clock this evening he 
had only half finished his English Composition. 
At half-past eight he threw it aside with a sigh, 
still unfinished. He then took up his Latin 
Grammar, but I feel sure he cannot conjugate 
cajno. He is not very good at irregular verbs 
anyway. I can only hope and pray. 

TueMar. 20th: His conversation with the 
boys at school today: I shall put down some 
few snatches of it. For instance, said Timmy 
Kenney: “Hello, old hero! How’s the basket¬ 
ball champ today?” Answered Dan: “Feeling 
pretty chipper for all the work I did 
Friday!” (!!!) Again; said Bobby Daley: 
“Dan, will you tell me how you can shoot 
baskets as easily as you do ? It doesn’t seem to 
be any trouble to you at all. You hardly ever 
miss, do you?” Answered Dan: “Aw, it’s 
easy enough when you know how.” Again; 


/ 


144 


REARDON RAH! 


said Mike: “Say, Dan, I’ve got to admit you’re 
quite a thinker when it comes to figuring out 
what’s the matter with a losing team. I played 
as hard as I could, but I’m not much on think¬ 
ing things out.” Answered Dan: “Well, y’see, 
Mike, the way I take it is this: what’s a head 
for, if it’s not to think with. A fellow can play 
hard as anything, but if he doesn’t think too, 
well, what good is he? Now f’r instance, you 
remember how I thought about running down 
court when you’d knock the ball out to me? 
Well, I thought of that just as easy ... as 
that” And he snapped his fingers. “A head,” 
he added, “ought to be for more’n wearing your 
hat on!” Dear, dear me! 

Thur., Mar. 29th: He has it all right! 
Megalocephalitis, That is a good name for it. 
Combinations of Greek words are very useful 
for describing things: megalo , large; cephale, 
head; and the ending, -itis, to signify inflamma¬ 
tion or swelling. ’Twas quite beyond him, 
however—he did not catch the inference when 
Mr. Grough explained the word to the boys in 
the gymnasium today. They were gathered 
around Mr. Grough talking as usual, after the 
baseball meeting, and the conversation turned 
to the prevailing epidemic of grippe. Mr. 
Grough smilingly said he knew a worse disease 
that oftentimes caught people. Of course they 
all wanted to know what it was. Mr. Grough 
then mentioned megalocephalitis and gave his 


“ MEGALOCEPHx\LITIS ” 


145 


explanation. But Dan just laughed as much 
as the rest. The little shot missed its mark 
entirely. 

Tue., Apr . 2nd: At the reading of the 
Monthly Marks today he did not seem so well 
pleased. All his marks were dangerously near 
the passing average. None was over sixty-five. 
I have redoubled my prayers and good sug¬ 
gestions, but it seems that he will neglect hand¬ 
ing in his written exercises, and he is only half 
prepared in his oral work. Baseball is not 
going to do him any good. I sincerely hope he 
will not be chosen for the Junior Team. 

Fri, Apr. 13th: He is doing very well as a 
baseball pitcher, but not so well with his books. 
He was best in practice yesterday. The Coach 
will probably have him pitch in tomorrow’s 
game. 

Sat., Apr. 14th: Yes; he did. And Dan won 
the game. I suppose he will be worse now 
and harder to influence. It is difficult for 
God’s grace to make an entrance into the soul 
when megalocephalitis stands at the door. 

Sat., Apr. 21st: He has won another game. 

Sat., Apr. 28th: Another. No hits; no runs. 
Marks closed yesterday for the month of April. 
We shall see. 

Tue., May 1st: What a rage he was in this 
afternoon when the marks were read. He 
failed in three subjects. Only one was enough 
to disqualify him in Athletics. X am glad. 




146 


REARDON RAH! 


My suggestions now must keep him from being 
resentful and tend to bring him back to his 
school work. 

Wed,, May 2nd: This was a bad day. After 
school Mr. Grough met Dan and Mike in the 
corridor and asked Dan if he had returned his 
baseball uniform to the Manager. Dan replied 
rather sullenly that he had, yesterday. Mr. 
Grough then asked: “The shoes also, Daniel?” 
Dan flared up: “Do you think I’m a thief?” 
“I would not say so, Daniel,” said Mr. Grough, 
“unless I were sure of it; and certainly not 
here in a public place; nor in the presence of 
another. I did not even mean to hint that. 
But your shoes were missing from the bundle 
that was said to be yours, and I wondered if 
you knew . . .” Here Dan cut him off with: 
“Well, I don’t know anything about them.” 
Michael Hanley was looking rather pained and 
was about to say something, when Mr. Grough 
asked: “Then you haven’t got them, Daniel?” 
“No, sir,” answered Dan. It was a lie. The 
first one I’ve ever known him to tell. Michael 
Hanley now spoke up: “Why, Dan, I guess 
you forgot. Didn’t you put them in your bag 
this morning? You said you’d forgot to put 
them in the bundle the other day.” Dan began 
to rage. “Will you mind your own business! 
Here are your old shoes!” He ripped open his 
bag and threw the shoes on the floor in front 


“ MEGALOCEPHALITIS ” 


147 


of Mr. Grough. Then he stalked away. Oh, 
well, I need not write any more about it. 

Thur., May 3rd: He has had it out with his 
friend Michael Hanley. It happened in the 
gymnasium at the lunch hour. They had not 
met since yesterday’s affair in the corridor. It 
was Dan’s fault again this time. He demanded 
of Mike what business he had “squealing” on 
him? Mike tried to explain, but Dan would not 
listen to him. Cried Dan: “From now on I 
don’t want anything more to do with wire¬ 
pullers. Hang around and be teacher’s pet all 
you want. But don’t you dare tell on me 
again.” A crowd of boys was about. Said 
Mike: “I tell you, Dan, you’re not telling the 
truth. I only ...” Dan broke in: “What? 
You call me a liar?” And he hit Mike hard on 
the nose. It began to bleed. Just then Mr. 
Grough came along. Dan has been suspended 
for a week. He will lose much time from his 
books and the examinations are coming soon. 

Thur., June 1st: It has been a very bad 
month. In spite of his father’s insistence on 
study and all my good suggestions, his marks 
are poor again. He has not yet apologized to 
Mr. Grough. He seems afraid to do so. He 
will have nothing to do with his former friend 
Michael Hanley. School will close on the 
eleventh. He will never pass his examinations. 

Thur., June 15th: No; he did not pass. He 
is conditioned in four subjects. My work will 


148 


REARDON RAH! 


now be more difficult than ever. Vacation time 
is here. He would not receive Holy Com¬ 
munion last Sunday. But God is good. I am 
not really afraid. And grace is powerful. 

Here the Guardian Angel’s Diary breaks 

off. 

Reardon It . . . Sh-h-h! 

* * * * * 

Amid the bcdmiest flowers that earth can give, 

Some bitter drops distil , and all that live 
A Tnmgled portion share; 

But while he learns these truths which we lament , 

Such fortitude as ours will sure be sent , 

Such solace to his care . 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

VACATION 


Oh, see ye not yon narrow road, 

So thick beset wi* thorns and briers f 
That is the Path of Righteousness , 

Though after it but few inquires. 

—Old Ballad 

T HE tenth of June had ushered in the last 
day of school. Each day for the first 
week or so of vacation time, Dan 
Reardon had enjoyed the luxury of late sleep¬ 
ing. Breakfast at ten; a glance at the sporting 
sheet of the morning paper; some errands for 
mother, perhaps, or a look at his pigeon-house: 
these were the occupations of the morning. At 
erne or thereabouts, for want of better employ¬ 
ment, the restless lad would join the crowd of 
boys from the neighborhood and go to the 
“Bathing Beach” at the Tidal Basin. Return¬ 
ing home at five after his afternoon's sport in 
the water, Dan was always ravenously hungry, 
and would do full justice to the evening meal. 
It was very difficult to find enjoyable occupa¬ 
tions for the hours between dinner and bed- 

149 


150 


REARDON RAH! 


time. Sometimes he would read, or sometimes 
sit on the curb in front of his father’s house and 
while away the time with the boys. At nine he 
was generally glad enough to hear his mother 
bid him come in and go to bed. 

Mike Hanley had gone to Boston to spend 
the summer with his cousins. He had gone, 
too, without any word of farewell to Dan. 
There was now a sort of silent state of warfare 
between the erstwhile Inseparables. 

Thus the round of many days without much 
in particular to do was beginning to pall upon 
Dan. He grew tired of lying so late in bed. 
He grew tired of swimming, of reading, of 
just “hanging around with the North Capitol 
Street Gang.” He tried amateur carpentry. 
But the saw was dull, the chisel w r as nicked, and 
the plane would not plane. ’Twas an old set 
of tools anyway, which Santa Claus had 
brought him back in the days when he was only 
ten years old and believed in Santa Claus. He 
busied himself with the pigeons, but the un¬ 
grateful birds seemed rather unappreciative of 
his attentions. Nothing seemed to work. He 
read—yes; but these authors, you know, put so 
much description in their books that one is kept 
busy looking for the talk-parts. He heard 
there was to be an athletic meet at one of the 
playgrounds. He went, but found that he was 
too big a boy for the entries. He was not per¬ 
mitted to run. 


VACATION 


151 


It was on the afternoon on which Dan had 
sought to take part in the races at the play¬ 
ground, that he returned home quite disgusted 
with vacation and the miserable manner in 
which it must be spent. It was four o’clock. 
As he turned into the gate, the postman de¬ 
livering the afternoon mail handed him three 
letters. 

“For your Dad, son,” was the carrier’s 
remark, and went on to the next house. 

Dan proceeded up the short walk to the 
house, thinking nothing of the letters. Cas¬ 
ually his eye rested on the return address of the 
uppermost letter. He looked again. “Botolph 
High School, Office of the Prefect of Studies,” 
was the legend. 

“Whew!” muttered Dan. “That would be 
the year’s report. And it’s addressed to Papa. 
Uin-m-m-m; it’ll never do for him to see it. Still, 
he’s got to see it. How can I help it? Well, 
... it could possibly . . . if . . .” 

“Oh, three letters! Who for? Any for me?” 
piped a pleasant voice behind Dan. Turning 
almost guiltily, Dan beheld his sister Mary. 

“Er ... no; they’re all for Papa,” said 
Dan, and thrusting the letters into Mary’s 
hand, he sped up the steps and into the house. 

Fifteen minutes later Dan was perusing the 
evening paper. His mother was in the kitchen 
preparing things for dinner. The sports fin¬ 
ished, the boy let the paper fall carelessly into 


152 


REARDON RAH! 


his lap and began day-dreaming. He was 
looking straight at the paper, but scarcely saw 
it at all. Presently he seemed to recover con¬ 
sciousness, for he quickly picked up the paper 
again and eagerly turned the pages. Ah, here! 
"Help Wanted — Male” He ran his finger 
down the column slowly, taking in each adver¬ 
tisement carefully. All, here! "Wanted: 
Young boy of good character for office work . 
Five dollars per week to start. Good chance 
of advancement and to learn business . Novo 
Advertising Agency, 613 Bolt Bldg” 

“O Mamma?” called Dan. 

“Yes, Danny?” replied Mrs. Reardon from 
the kitchen. 

“Mamma, I got a swell idea!” exclaimed 
Dan, running for the kitchen and waving the 
paper over his head wildly. “Oh, the swellest 
idea you ever heard of!” 

“Do tell me about it quick, Dan; I’m sure it 
must be fine,” replied the mother, smiling. 

“See here, Mamma; this advertising bunch 
want an office boy. Why can’t I get that job 
and make five dollars a week? I’m so tired of 
just hanging around with the North Capitol 
Street Gang. If I get that job, why, all I 
want’s about a dollar a week to have some fun 
with and you and Papa can have the rest. Now 
can I, Ma? Can I please get that job?” 

The diplomatic youth put his arm about his 
mother’s waist and his head close to her arm. 


VACATION 


153 


The mother gently returned the embrace and 
left a trace of flour on Dan’s coat. 

“Oh, see what I’ve done,” she said; “flour on 
your coat.” 

“ ’S all right, Ma; ’s all right. It’ll come off 
easy. Only can I get the job, please, Mamma 
darling 1” 

“Well now, Danny, I’m sure I don’t know 
whether these people will want so young a lad,” 
said Mrs. Reardon, rolling out the dough for 
a pie. 

“Yes, they do; it says here—where’s the 
paper?—‘wanted: young boy.’ I’m young all 
right; I won’t be fifteen till September. Just 
say I can, Mamma.” 

“Well, all right, Danny, . . ” 

“Hurray!” v 

. . that is, I was going to say: if your 
father has no objections.” 

“Well,” said Dan dubiously, “you just tell 
Papa it’s all right, and he’ll let me. Will you 
now?” 

“We’ll see,” was the non-committal reply. 
“I think I hear him coming in now. Run and 
tell Mary to hurry and set the table.” 

“I’ll set it for you, Mamma. Mary does too 
much work anyway. I’ll set the table all right. 
Oh, Baby, you just wait till I get that job!” 

Mrs. Reardon was smiling. 

An armful of plates, saucers, cups, knives, 
forks, spoons, and in fact nearly all that the 


154 


REARDON RAH! 


small family required of table-ware was piled 
perilously against Dan’s chest. Whistling a 
bright tune, he stepped slowly and cautiously 
out of the kitchen to the dining-room and en¬ 
countered his father in the doorway. 

“What’s this?” inquired the puzzled father. 
“Dan setting the table? Is Mary ill? Or,” he 
added with a smile, “perhaps you are, Danny? 
Let me feel your pulse, son.” 

“Don’t be a tease, John,” chided Mrs. 
Reardon. 

Nothing daunted, Dan stepped aside to 
allow his father to pass and with a cheery 
“Evening, Papa!” and a knowing wink to his 
mother, went whistling again about his self- 
appointed task. 

He could hear low voices speaking in the 
kitchen. He caught a word here and there. 

“. . . a good idea”; “keep him busy”; “yes, 
it’s experience”; “might be all right”; “I’ll call 
him up”; “at dinner, tell him.” 

And at dinner-time: 

“Well, tell me, Danny; why do you want to 
get this job?” Mr. Reardon was asking. 
“Wouldn’t you rather play around with the 

boys ?” 

“Aw, no, Papa; I’m tired of playing around. 
Here it is the fifteenth of July and I almost 
wish school would begin again. Just think of 
all the money I’ll make.” 

“Well, what do you think, Little Mary? 


VACATION 


155 


You are so silent there, I know you must have 
some thoughts on this important matter, worth 
listening to.” 

“I think . . began Dan’s sister. 

“Mary, if you stick up for me, I’ll give you 
fifty cents on my first pay-day. Cross my 
heart!” 

“Here, here! No politics!” laughingly ad¬ 
monished Mr. Reardon. “Let Mary say just 
what she thinks. What were you saying, Little 
Mary?” 

“Well, I was going to say,” smiled Mary in 
her sweetest way, “that I think it’d do Danny 
good to get a job, because he seems so fidgety 
around here all day.” 

“Good girl, Sis!” shouted Dan. “You’re 
always my friend. Oh, Papa, tell me ‘yes’ 
quick, or I won’t be able to eat any more din¬ 
ner.” 

“Very well, then,” declared Mr. Reardon 
with an air of finality; “if you think you can 
get the place and fill the bill, you may try. But 
don’t be disappointed when you find out what 
working is like, or worse still perhaps, when 
you see some other lad get the position you are 
after.” 

“Oh, thank you, Papa, thank you! I know 
I’ll get it and like it too.” 

Dan was enthusiastic; he was bubbling over; 
he was ready to shout for joy, when lo! a fly 
in the ointment. 


156 


REARDON RAH! 


His father was speaking as he rose from 
table: 

“Any mail for me this evening, Mamma?” 

Holy Cats! Where can I hide, was Dan’s 
only thought. 

“Why,yes,”said Mrs. Reardon; “behind you 
there on the dresser. Mary brought them in 
this afternoon.” 

“I think I’ll go out with the fellows a little 
while,” volunteered Dan, trying to seem indif¬ 
ferent. 

Mr. Reardon was now opening the first letter 
—THE letter! 

“Oh! Here is your year’s report, Danny. 
What is this? ‘Not promoted unless condition 
examinations are passed by September third’? 
Dan, Dan, this is a bad surprise indeed! I 
thought you told me you were going to work 
hard during the month of May, so you could 
make up for that little slump you had in April. 
You’re a good promiser, lad, but not much at 
keeping your word, are you? I better take 
back what I said about this job of yours. Your 
occupation for the rest of the summer will be 
serious study.” 

Dan hung his head. Mrs. Reardon and 
Mary had discreetly gathered the dishes and 
retired to the kitchen. 

“Have you any excuse to offer, young fel¬ 
low?” asked Mr. Reardon in his severest tones, 
his strong voice rising a little. 


VACATION 


157 


“No, sir,” in a choked whisper. 

“Perhaps you have an explanation, then? 
How did you manage to fall so low in your 
marks ? Look here, sir. Don’t be pouting that 
way, or I’ll give you reason to whimper! 
‘Mathematics: 42; English Composition: 34; 
Latin Literature: 29.’ Fine marks indeed! 
I’m proud of my son. And you want to get a 
job, do you? Think you can earn your living 
if you fail like that in the most important work 
you have—your studies? I wouldn’t hire you. 
Really, son, I don’t know what I’ll do with you 
now. I have to think. Just sit down a while. 
Let me think.” 

A long pause. The clock on the mantel was 
ticking far too loud. Mrs. Reardon and Mary 
in the kitchen went about their work of washing 
and drying the dishes, but no word passed be¬ 
tween them. Out on the street the sounds of 
happy boyish and girlish voices rang no mes¬ 
sage of joy for Dan Reardon, down whose 
reddened cheeks ran copious hot tears. 

Mr. Reardon sat with elbows on the arms of 
his Morris chair. His finger tips were joined 
and touched his forehead. This was an attitude 
in which the household dreaded to behold its 
master, for it always meant that a severe deci¬ 
sion of some kind was about to follow. 

At last the father raised his head. His hands 
grasped the arms of the chair tightly and he 
spoke very, very firmly: 



158 


REARDON RAH! 


“Danny, I’m very much ashamed of you. 
Here is what I have decided. I had planned to 
send your mother and Mary and you to Atlan¬ 
tic City for a week or two before the opening 
of school. Mary especially needs distraction: 
she seems so very nervous and high-strung 
lately. But I shall make one change in that 
plan. They will go, but you must remain in 
Washington to prepare for your condition ex¬ 
aminations. In the two weeks between now 
and August first, you may go to work if you 
can get a place. My reason for this is because 
I want you to get a taste of what working is 
like. I think it will do you good. But on 
August first you give up work and begin to 
study. That is all, son; you may go now.” 

Without a word Dan rose and went up to his 
bedroom. Throwing himself across the bed, he 
cried himself asleep. And his tears were not 
tears of shame or penitence—they were tears of 
bitterness. Why must everyone be so unjust? 
Were the old days of the beginning of the last 
school-year returning? Were they all going to 
pick on him again? These were his thoughts 
as he fell into a troubled dreamful sleep. 

Dan awoke early the next day. With a rush 
memory assailed him, and he recalled the bitter 
happenings of the evening before. No matter, 
x he was going to get his job. He’d show ’em. 
He could get good marks if he wanted to. But 


VACATION 


159 


he did not want to, that was all the difference. 

Dan was soon dressed and downstairs before 
anyone else in the house was stirring. It was 
six o’clock. Going to the refrigerator in the 
kitchen, he extracted the remnants of a boiled 
ham, sliced off two thick pieces, and cut some 
bread which he spread with butter. A glass of 
milk and this bulky sandwich was Dan’s break¬ 
fast. 

He was soon on the street and, walking 
briskly in the pleasant morning air, consumed 
but little time in reaching the tall office build¬ 
ing. Dan mounted the stairs for the sixth 
floor, for office building landlords do not pro¬ 
vide elevator service before their tenants are 
out of bed. At the sixth floor he encountered 
the janitor. 

“What do you want here, son, so early?” 
asked the man. 

“I’m looking for the Novo Advertising 
Agency, number 613,” answered Dan. 

“Oh, them folks won’t be here till nine 
o’clock,” said the janitor. “You lookin’ for 
that office boy job?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied the boy. 

“Well, you must want it plenty bad, cornin’ 
round this earlv.” And the man continued 
down the stairs chuckling to himself. 

Dan sat down on the stairs and began his 
long wait. It was scarcely seven now and two 
hours can surely drag if you have nothing but 


160 


REARDON RAH! 


thoughts with which to fill them. Nor are two 
hours of thought so pleasant w r hen the thought 
is bitter. And still . . . yes, there is a kind of 
pleasure in being sad. It is so easy to sympa¬ 
thize with self—the more so, when no one else 
will do it and you are convinced that everyone 
should be taking your side against a cruel and 
unjust world. Thus Dan was joyously sad. 

At quarter past eight the elevator discharged 
a passenger for the sixth floor. A red-headed 
lad of sixteen or thereabouts approached, look¬ 
ing from side to side as if seeking a certain 
room. 

“Where’s 613, kid?” asked the newcomer 
without show of politeness. 

“Right behind you, goat,” retorted Dan. 

“You’re awful fresh, ain’t you, kid?” thrust 
the newcomer. 

“As a new-laid egg, goat,” parried Dan. 

Now the elevator stopped again at the sixth, 
discharging more passengers: one young Ital¬ 
ian lad with bright flashing eyes; one presum¬ 
ably from Southeast Washington (Dan could 
always tell them!); and two others who might 
be just out of the band-box. 

Red-head assumed charge. 

“All you infants line up there along the rail. 
If you’re good li’l fellahs I might hire you for 
a nickle a week. Gosh, you babies make me 
laugh. Bring your bottles? What chance you 
got o’ gettin’ this job along side o’ me?” 


/ 


VACATION 161 

The speaker was shot through and through 
with arrows of vision from the eyes of Dan. 
The others mutely permitted themselves to be 
marshalled along the bannister rail. Dan was 
about to speak, when once more the elevator 
door opened and a neatly dressed young man 
stepped out. A head and shoulders belonging 
to the janitor protruded from the elevator car 
and a grimy finger pointed straight at Dan. 

“That’s the one, Mr. Hanna, sir; the lad 
sittin’ on the stairs,” indicated the janitor. 

The arm, head and shoulders disappeared; 
the gate clicked; Dan stood up quickly with a 
look of inquiry. Mr. Hanna had glanced 
briefly in his direction! The job must be his! 
And it was! A short interview followed in Mr. 
Hanna’s office; one by one the other applicants 
were dismissed and Dan alone was left. 

“I’ve chosen you, young man,” Mr. Hanna 
was telling Dan, “partly because you showed 
enterprise enough to get here so much earlier 
than the rest of those boys. The janitor tells 
me you’ve been waiting since seven o’clock. In 
the advertising business one needs to be very 
prompt and always beforehand. I hope you’ll 
like your work and be willing to learn. I might 
have taken that breezy big boy who is not going 
to return to school, but I chose you instead, 
because boys so promptly unwilling to return 
to school are not generally to be depended 
upon. Now Miss Wilson, my stenographer, 


162 


REARDON RAID 


will show you what your duties are. She has 
just come in. You will always take your 
orders from me and from Miss Wilson. You 
may go now and introduce yourself to Miss 
Wilson.” 

“Thank you, sir, Mr. Hanna,” said Dan in 
most businesslike tones. “I shall attend to that 
at once. I hope too, sir, that I shall always 
please you.” 

Dan bowed and Mr. Hanna smiled. 

“I think you will, Daniel; I think you will,” 
said Mr. Hanna and swung around to his desk. 

“Oh, Mr. Hanna, sir,” said Dan uneasily. 

“Well?” * M- 

“I ought to tell you: maybe my folks won't 
want me to work so very long. Maybe my 
father'll want me to quit before school opens.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Hanna thoughtfully, but 
smiling. “I fancy that will be O. K. I’ll 
chance that. We advertisers are great chancers, 
you know, Daniel.” 

Dan retired. He knew nothing of how his 
father had asked this friend of his to employ 
the boy for two weeks, merely as a favor. 

A week had passed—a week of “work.” 
Dan had opened the mail each morning; dusted 
the office furniture; emptied the waste baskets; 
run errands to the post-office; made himself 
generally useful. He liked it. Why had his 
father said he would not? 


VACATION 


163 


This was Saturday morning. The office 
would close at noon for the weekly half-holiday. 
Mr. Hanna would call him at eleven and hand 
him his first pay-envelope containing a fresh 
five dollar bill. 

The little buzzer on his desk “burred” once. 

Mr. Hanna was calling. 

“Yes, sir?” asked Dan when he stood before 
his employer’s desk. 

“Ah, Daniel, mail this Special Delivery at 
once, please. It is very important. Better 
take it to the post-office.” 

“Very well, sir; I’ll go at once.” 

Dan reported to Miss Wilson, as per his rule, 
got his cap and rang for the elevator. The car 
was descending. 

“Hi, Dan!” rang a familiar voice, as the gate 
opened. 

“Hi, Jim!” cheerily returned Dan, step¬ 
ping in. 

It was Jim Blower. Jim was a burly lad 

* 

past seventeen and the office boy to a lawyer on 
the seventh floor. The two had made ac¬ 
quaintance in the elevator early in the week. 
They often exchanged professional views as 
they rode to the street floor, and when their 
errands took them in the same direction, went 
together. Besides, Jim and Dan walked a 
great way home together. Their community 
of office boy interests had made, one might say. 
professional friends of them. 


164 


REARDON RAH! 


“Good movie down on Ninth Street, Dan,” 
suggested Jim. “What say we take it in this 
after?” 

The two had reached the street. 

“What’s the name of it?” asked Dan. 

“ 4 Burning Desire .’ A fellow told me it’s 
a corker. Want to come? It’s pay-day; we’ll 
be flush enough for an orchestra seat. I’ll buy 
the lunch and you set up for the tickets. Kinda 
Dutch treat, eh what?” 

“Well, . . . see you at noon,” returned Dan 

with indecision. “Er ... let von know then. 

_ «•' 

Gotta get this Special to the P. O. right now. 
S’long, Jim.” 

“S’long. Meet you right here at twelve 
-five.” 


Noon came. Mr. Hanna had called Dan 
and given him his pay-envelope. Dan had 
thanked his employer and was now descending 
the stairs. In this way he hoped to evade Jim 
Blower, for he had no desire to attend the 
movie. He wished to go home and present his 
unopened pay-envelope to his mother. 

These thoughts occupying his mind, Dan did 
not notice that already he had reached the 
street. 

“Thought you’d never come!” 

Dan started. 

“Oh, hello, Jim. Say, old man, don’t think 
I’ll go with you this after; I gotta get home.” 


VACATION 


165 


“Aw come on. It’s a great show. I’ll buy 
the tickets and the lunch too. Come on, it’s 
gettin’ late.” 

Dan allowed Jim to put an arm through his 
and almost before he knew it the two were at 
the Dairy Lunch. Jim ordered: “Two plates 
of beans; coffee and sinkers for two. All on 
one check.” 

The two sat in the arm-chairs enjoying the 
lunch. At least, Jim seemed to be enjoying 
his. Dan hardly. He felt he was doing some¬ 
thing wrong. Something told him to thank 
Jim for the lunch and then go straight home. 
He felt very, very, very, very uncomfortable. 

Said Jim: “Say, kiddo! I got an idea. You 
and me can make a little side cash out of it. 
Simple too. Say, you got charge of the office 
while the Boss and that girl are out to lunch, 
ain’t you?” 

“Yes,” almost whispered Dan. Why did he 
feel so funny? 

“Well, here it is, then,” continued Jim 
Blower, pushing aside his coffee mug. “Don’t 
some orders for job printing come in at times 
when they are out?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Don’t you see?” 

“N-no.” 

“You little dumb-bell! Then listen. Stick 
a couple of those orders in your pocket ’stead 
of giving ’em to the girl. I know a printer 


REARDON RAH! 


166 

who'll do the work cheap. We get the work 
done, deliver the goods ourselves and make a 
neat little side profit. Eh what? Blower, 
Reardon and Co., Inc., Printin' Agents. Eh, 

what?" 

“Would that be honest?" asked Dan, piling 
up the empty dishes. 

“ ’Course ’t would! What’s not honest about 
it? Think it over. Come on now. Show starts 
at one." 

“Aw, I don’t guess I’ll go, Jim; I gotta get 
home." 

“Well if ’at ain’t a nice way for a gent to 
treat a gent! Eat his lunch an’ ’en beat it. I 
s’pose you’re much obliged f huh?" 

Dan was stung. 

“Well, come on then," he blurted indig¬ 
nantly. “I’m no cheap skate. Come on, and 
I’ll buy the tickets too!" 

“Now you’re singin’ a song! Come on!" 

Jim paid the check, purchased a pack of 
cigarettes and the two turned in the direction of 
Ninth Street. Jim opened the pack and tap¬ 
ping it sharply on the end, ejected a cigarette. 

“Have a butt?" 

Dan knew not why he reached out a slightly 
trembling hand and took the cigarette. But he 
did, and lit it from Jim’s proffered match, and 
puffed awkwardly away. 

How beastly your first smoke tastes! The 
element of disappointment is keen. The thing 


VACATION 


187 


is vile—yet you smoke! Oh, it may be ad¬ 
mitted that after you have grown accustomed 
to the taste . . . 

The Theatre! On past the flaring posters 
marched our Dan. He deliberately tore open 
his envelope and extracted ... Yes, a five 
dollar bank note. A little slip of white paper 
came with it. Dan read: 

Dear Daniel: 

1 presume this about the first money you ever 
earned by your own labor. Learn a little lesson at 
the start, my boy: do not squander easily what comes 
so hard. Learn to save. 

Yours sincerely, 

W. H. 

Ban thrust the paper into his pocket and 
facing the ticket window', passed in his bill. 

“Two in the orchestra,” he ordered huskily. 
That cigarette made him feel shaky. 

The show? This only may be said of it: 
there were many, many minutes of that hour 
and a half, during which Daniel Reardon sat 
with eyelids tightly closed. Jim Blower’s eyes 
never wandered for a moment awav from the 
screen. Would it never end? That jazzy 
piano would drive one crazy. Dan longed for 
sunlight and air unburdened by tobacco smoke. 
His mouth was dry. He reached into his 
pocket and extracted a dime; inserted it in the 
slot of the box on the back of the seat in front, 


i 


168 


REARDON RAH! 


turned the knob and out popped a small box of 
stale chocolates. He offered some to Jim. 
Jim paid no heed. Sixty cents from five dol¬ 
lars, leaves four dollars and forty cents. 

At last! The show is over. The lights blaze. 

“Wasn’t it great!” enthused Jim. 

“Uh-huh.” 

They neared the lobby. An usher stood at 
the doorway. 

“Get your Movie Magazine. Great pitchers 
of all the stars. All about their home life an’ 
private affairs. Articles is intrustin’ and in- 
structuv. On’v twen’y-fT cents, the fourt’ part 
of a dollar.” 

“Get one, Dan; they’re great.” 

Dan got one. Twenty-five cents from four 
dollars and forty cents, leaves four dollars and 
fifteen cents. 

On the street Dan opened his magazine. He 
closed it again quickly! 

“Aw, I don’t want any pictures of these 
dames,” he cried impetuously, and sailed the 
book into the gutter. 

Jim leaped for it. 

“Holy Cats!” he cried. “What you doin’!” 

“S’long, Jim,” said Dan; “gotta get home 
now. See you Monday.” And he ran for a 
Ninth Street car. 

Monday came and found Dan once more at 
his little desk near the office door. The usual 


VACATION 


16 $ 


round of the early morning’s duties had been 
run through. Ten o’clock usually gave him a 
short breathing spell and time to think. He 
leaned back in his chair, drew the desk lamp 
closer, and took from his pocket a letter. He 
would read it again: 


Emperor Island 
So. Norwalk, Conn. 

My Dear Dan: 

I have been hoping, old fellow, and against hope, 
it would seem, that some day I would get a pleasant 
surprise in the shape of a letter from 3 r ou. Well, 
since you did not wish to write me, I determined I 
would set you the good example myself. So here goes. 

I am very sorry you did not call to see me before 
I left Washington, as I had asked you to do. I 
merely wished to have you know that I was sorry 
about the little misunderstanding we had over those 
baseball shoes. I still believe you acted wrongly, 
Dan, and that you should have come and told me so 
of your own accord; but I wanted you to know that 
even in spite of your failure to do this, I did not, as 
you boys say, hold anything against you. I wanted 
to say that bye-gones could be such, and you and I 
would remain as much friends as ever. This is what 
I wanted to tell you. And this only. Anything else 
I might have said would have been prompted only by 
what you would have asked me yourself. I say all 
this now, because I do not see the necessity of con¬ 
tinuing a misunderstanding. So let that be the end 
of it all. I shall not refer to the matter again. 

How are you enjoying the summer days in dear 


REARDON RAH! 


hot old Washington? I wish you could be here— 
you and the other suffering lads of the D.C.—where 
you could enjoy the cool breezes off Long Island 
Sound and dip in the brine for a swim whenever you 
wished it. As I write, the waves beneath my window 
are lapping against the rock on which this house is 
built. I could almost dive from my window into the 
Sound! The other teachers of Botolph’s are here 
with me, and if we tire of confinement on our island— 
an island only at the highest tide—we simply pile into 
our boat and row away to some other island nearby— 
there are plenty of them—and have a picnic on the 
beach. 

Dan, I trust you are taking good care of yourself 
these days. Keep up your weekly Holy Communions. 
That will be your best safeguard against any evil 
influences which may chance to cross your vacation 
path. Truly, I have no fear for you, though, for 
you are discriminating enough to recognize and 
courageous enough to avoid any bad fellow who might 
try to teach you mischief. 

But now, lest I begin writing you a sermon instead 
of a letter, I shall break off right here. Remember 
me in your prayers, Dan, and be assured I am always. 

Yours sincerely, 

Adrian K. Grough 

Dan folded the letter carefully; replaced it 
in his breast pocket; took up his pen and 
laboriously scratched these words: 

My Dear Mr. Grougli: 

I wish to thank you for your kind letter. I’ve got 




VACATION 


171 


a job. It was surely kind of you to forget what I 
did that day. . . . 

Here Dan paused. He sat a while looking 
far into space. Suddenly he took the sheet of 
paper on which he had written and tore it into 
little bits. These fluttered slowly through his 
fingers into the waste-basket. 

“No,” he muttered half aloud. “I got to go 
on with it now. I told Mamma and Papa I 
would not be paid till next Saturday. How 
could I give Ma four dollars and seven cents 
instead of that nice new fiver. She’d want to 
know what I did with the rest. Then there’d 
be a sweet row with Pa. I’ll do it. Just once. 
It’ll never be noticed. If only somebody’ll 
bring in a printing order at lunch hour today. 
I ought to be able to make at least one dollar 
on it. I don’t guess it’s dishonest either. I’m 
not really cheating anybody. I’m just going 
into business for myself, like Jim savs. I’ll 
do it.” 

Mr. Hanna passed the desk. 

“I’m going out, Daniel. I do not expect to 
be back today. Tell Miss Wilson to attend to 
all customers.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

The noon whistles blew. Miss Wilson passed 
Dan’s desk. 


172 


REARDON RAH! 


“To luncheon, Daniel, dear. Take good care 
till I return.” 

“Yes, Miss Wilson. Oh, by-the-way, Miss 
Wilson; Mr. Hanna says he does not expect to 
be back today. You are to attend to all cus¬ 
tomers.” 

“Indeed? Well, you will keep notes for me 
during the luncheon hour, won’t you? I’ll re¬ 
turn in half an hour.” 

Dan heard the gate of the elevator click. 
Perhaps two or three minutes elapsed. Then 
the elevator door opened again. Fifteen sec¬ 
onds more and a young girl of eighteen or 
nineteen entered the office. 

“Is this the Novo Advertising Agency?” 
asked the young lady. 

“Yes’m,” replied Dan. “Anything we can 
do for you?” 

“Why, yes, please, I just wanted to leave 
this order for printing: 5000 letter-heads like 
this one. When can you have the work ready? 
My Boss is in a fearful hurry.” 

“I’ll have ’em around tomorrow evening at 
four o’clock, or first thing Wednesday morn¬ 
ing. Will that be soon enough?” 

“Oh, I guess so.” And she turned to go. 

“Er . . . Miss . . . er . . . that’ll be C.O.D., 
y’understand.” And little beads of sweat stood 
out on Dan’s forehead. 

“Why, the Boss says he has an account 
here!” 


VACATION 


173 


“Oh . . . well then, ’at’s different. I see. 
Be all right. Well send the bill. Er . . . 
was there something else?” 

“No, thank you, that’s all.” And she dis¬ 
appeared, running to catch the elevator. 

Swiftly Dan sought the files. He ran 
through the letter H until he came to Hewlett 

Co. Ah, here was a receipted bill. Six 
months previously this firm had ordered letter¬ 
heads. The price was $3.00 per thousand. He 
calculated. If he could get the work done for 
$2.50 per thousand he would make $2.50 for 
himself on the deal. Then he could supply his 
missing dollar and be able to present his mother 
with $10.00. It would surely work. 

That night sleep was slow in coming. Dan 
tossed about; turned this side and that; lay 
finally on his back, and in this position finally 
dozed. St. Aloysius’ clock was distant^ boom¬ 
ing the hour of tw r o in the morning. 

The next dav it rained. Work at the office 
•/ 

was dreary and uneventful. 

When bedtime came again, it was but a 
repetition of the night before. Tardy sleep. 
Little nightmares woke Dan with a nervous 
start. Then he would doze again. At three in 
the morning he was sleeping soundly. He lay 
on his back. He began to mutter: 

“You can’t prove anything on me! What’d 


174 


REARDON RAH! 


I do that wasn’t right? ... You can’t have it 
all! . . . I’ll take mine any chance I get!” 

Dan’s sister Mary stood in the open door¬ 
way, trembling like a leaf. 

“Dan,” she whispered, “did you call?” 

No reply. 

Mary waited. Her fingers plucked at the 
sleeves of her night-dress. 

“Well, I’ll do what I please, I guess I” con¬ 
tinued the sleeping boy. “You can’t hang me 
for it anyway, or put me in prison , can you?” 

Mary gasped and caught at her throat. And 
as Dan stirred, she slipped softly away and 
back to bed. But the poor girl slept no more 
that night. 

It was Wednesday morning. The usual 
chores at the office were done. Mr. Hanna was 
still out of the city and Miss Wilson was in 
charge again today. It w r as an easy matter for 
Dan to tell her he wished to mail some Specials. 
He did so, and in ten minutes was around the 
corner at the printer’s shop. 

“Those letter-heads for Novo done yet?” 
asked Dan, addressing the office boy. 

“Yep; right there.” 

“Charge to Novo,” said Dan, and gathering 
the two heavy bundles, one under each arm, lost 
no time in reaching the offices of Howlett & Co. 

Here again he met the young lady who had 
given him the order. 


VACATION 


175 


“Your printing’s ready, Miss,” said Dan, 
depositing his burden on the corner of her desk. 

“Oh, thanks; you’re prompt all right. Did 
you bring the bill ?” 

“No’m; Boss says to pay me the fifteen dol¬ 
lars and I’ll give you a receipt. He’s dealing 
cash on small orders now.” 

Ail elderly gentleman at another desk raised 
his head: “That’s strange,” said he, “we have 
an account with Novo.” 

“Orders are orders,” maintained Dan nerv¬ 
ously. 

“Well,” said the elderly gentleman, “pay 
him. Miss Lynch. We need the stuff right 
away. Get a receipt signed Novo, per this 
young man. He looks all right.” 

Dan received the fifteen dollars; signed the 
receipt and sauntered carelessly from the room. 
Once on the outside his first impulse was to run 
as fast as he could to the printer; pay the twelve 
and a half, saying simply that Novo wished to 
settle this little account in cash at once. This 
he had planned. But something held him just 
outside the door. Within he heard voices: 

“Novo never treated us that way before,” 
said a voice. “Better call up, Miss Lynch, and 
ask them.” 

“Yes, Mr. Howlett.” 

A pause. 

“Is this the Novo Advertising Agency? 
Yes; well, this is Howlett & Company, Mr. 


176 


REARDON RAH! 


Howlett’s Secretary speaking. I wish some 
information. Did you instruct your office boy 
to collect cash on delivery of those letter-heads 
we ordered Monday? . . . What? . . . Oh, we 
just got the letter-heads—that part’s all right. 
I gave the office boy the order Monday, just 
as you told me when I met you at the elevator 
that day and inquired what floor your office was 
on. You remember?... Yes ... Yes. Well, 
we paid the boy just now. We thought it 
queer you wanted cash. We have an account, 
you know. . . . Oh! Very well, so it’s all 
right then? Good-bye.” 

Dan was running now. He was soon in the 
printer’s shop. He paid twelve dollars and a 
half to the bookkeeper—on the Novo account, 
he said—and rushed out without a receipt to 
the street where he could breathe more freely. 
He saw it all. Miss Wilson had encountered 
the girl at the elevator and had forgotten it; 
had forgotten that she had directed the girl to 
leave her order with Dan; had forgotten the 
matter entirely during the past two days. He 
was caught! What to do? Return to the 
office? Silly thought! Go home? Sillier 
thought! Go to Baltimore? That was it! 

Dan boarded a Union Station car and within 
a half hour later was speeding away toward 
the Monumental City. 

At the same moment Mary Reardon was un¬ 
burdening her conscience to her mother of the 


VACATION 


177 


things she had heard her Danny say in his sleep 
the night before. Her story brokenly told be¬ 
tween sobs and nervous gestures, the tender¬ 
hearted girl suddenly fell fainting in her 
mother’s arms. 

***** 

Oliy see ye not yon narrow road y 
So thick beset wP thorns amd briers? 

That is the Path of Righteousness , 

Though after it but few inquires. 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 


WILD OATS 
. . . There is a Book 

By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light , 

On which the Eyes of God not rarely look , 

A chronicle of actions just and bright — 

There all thy deeds , my faithful Mary , shme; 

And since thou own’st that praise , I spare thee mine . 

—William Cowper 

W HEN Dan Reardon alighted from the 
train at Camden Station in Baltimore 
he felt an air of freedom. Here he 
could go about the city unrecognized and with¬ 
out recognizing anyone else. Here at last he 
could enjoy himself. And enjoy himself was 
what he meant to do. He was reckless now. 
Why not as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb ? 
As long as his money lasted he meant to make 
it serve his pleasure. He had resolutely put 
the distant future out of his head. The money 
gone, he would get more. How? He did not 
know, and (told himself) he did not care. 

Would he ever return home? He would not 
permit himself to think of that. All the way 

178 


WILD OATS 


179 


over in the train this question kept popping up, 
but now by dint of frequent repression, he was 
able lightly to banish the thought. Dan was 
living in a glorious present. There was no 
past, no future. 

It was noon. The day was scorching hot and 
dusty. (Baltimore is indeed a dusty city at the 
end of July.) Dan turned into a drug store 
when he reached Baltimore Street, and regaled 
himself with a chocolate ice cream soda, and 
then with another. This was lunch enough. 
He purchased a pack of cigarettes —El Fumo 
—thus reducing his exchequer by ten cents 
more and receiving in return a stock of com¬ 
bustibles numbering twenty pieces. 

Dan stood on the curb and lit an El Fumo. 
He puffed away complacently for a few mo¬ 
ments, with the air of a man who has plenty of 
time and money, and whose only care in the 
w r orld is to answer satisfactorily for himself the 
question: “What shall I condescend to do with 
myself now?” 

Dan would inspect lower Baltimore Street. 
There ought to be some movies down that way. 
He would go down the other side of the street. 
He stepped off the curb and made to cross the 
street. He had taken only three steps . . . 

“Burr-rupp-rah! Burr-rupp-rah!” shrieked 
an auto horn. 

“Yah! there; look out, kid!” bellowed the 
driver and jammed all his brakes. 


180 


REARDON RAH! 


It was a huge green Mack, two-ton truck, 
and had stopped with a scream of the brakes 
but an inch or two from Dan. The El Fumo 
hung at a ridiculous angle from the boy’s partly 
open lips. Sweat stood in beads on his fore¬ 
head, and unable to move from fright, he re¬ 
mained trembling in front of the big machine. 

“Well, get out of the way, anyhow!” shouted 
the driver, a short swarthy little man. “I got 
too many stores to go to yet to be stayin’ here 
so long in one place. Why don’t you watch 
where you’re goin’ anyhow! You almost got 
me in court again!” 

Thus brought back to his senses, Dan moved 
quickly back to the curb. Few passers-by in 
the noonday city throng had paused more than 
to turn their heads to witness so common a 
sight. There are plenty of “J. Walkers” in 
every city. Fair Baltimore is no exception. 

Dan stood a few moments undecided as to 
what he should do. He still felt shaky and 
desired a place to sit down. His legs felt weak. 
Just at this moment a street car was loading 
passengers. Looking cautiously to right and 
left, the boy joined the crowd and boarded the 
car. He had no idea of the car’s destination, 
but felt that seven cents would be a cheap price 
for a place to sit down. Perhaps, after all, it 
would be best, he reflected as he sat in the car, 
if he would take the next train home and face 
things out. They could not do much about it 


WILD OATS 


181 


anyway. What had he done that was really 
wrong? People ought to be reasonable and let 
a fellow make a little money on the side. 
Maybe he had better go home. Would he? 
(He did not ask himself, should he!) 

The car had stopped. Dan looked out the 
window. It was Baltimore and Gay Streets. 
A picture theatre! He quickly rose and left 
the car. In a moment more, after many pre¬ 
cautions, he had crossed the street and was pur¬ 
chasing a ticket for the orchestra. In another 
he was inside. A news picture was showing. 
Soon came the feature of the day, a comedy 
picture in five reels. The brilliant music of a 
large orchestra, the clever antics of the star 
comedian, the spirit of slap-stick, the modem 
ideas of “make-you-laugh,” soon produced 
their wonted effect and Dan found himself en¬ 
joying the fun. He forgot that he was a fugi¬ 
tive; he forgot Washington and all the dear 
ones there; he forgot all but the happy present 
moment. And thus in blessed forgetfulness 
of all that could bear heavily upon the spirit, 
his car s faded into the flickering movie light 
and he drowned their discordant din in the 
lively music. Dan Reardon laughed, and 
laughed heartily all the afternoon. He re¬ 
mained for the repeat of the show, and when at 
last he emerged again, blinking, to the street, 
it was after five o’clock. Whistling the air of 
the march he had just heard, he turned west 


182 


REARDON RAH! 


on Baltimore Street and had not far to go 
before he found what he was seeking—a “one- 
arm-lunch.” 

Dan was finishing his watermelon when his 
attention was drawn by the conversation at the 
neighboring chairs. 

“Hey, Frank,” asked a raw-boned youth of 
his companion, “goin’ out to Gwynn Oak Park 
tonight? I was out las’ week an’ had a swell 
time.” 

“Yeh,” returned the other, “think I will. 
They got a good roily-coaster out there, ain’t 
they?” 

A magic word! The coaster had ever been 
Dan’s chiefest delight whenever he and the 
family went on excursions to Glen Echo. It 
would be a fine way to spend the evening. 
When he paid his check, he asked directions to 
the amusement park. 

“Take Woodlawn, number 32 car, at Bal’- 
mer an’ Liberty Street,” replied the cashier, 
and went on chewing her gum and knitting a 
sweater. “Two squares to yer right,” she 
added, forestalling another question. 

“Much obliged,” said Dan politely; and the 
girl glanced up from her knitting in mild sur¬ 
prise. 

Dan paused outside the “one-arm-lunch” 
long enough to light another El Fumo. He 
did not exactly like them, but in spite of the 
sharp bite each new puff gave to his tongue. 


WILD OATS 


183 


he felt that he really ought to get his money’s 
worth and finish the pack. Besides, they did 
not make him sick any more. 

Baltimore Street was fast being relieved of 
its all day crowds. It was near six o’clock and 
the people were all tending homeward. Dan 
sauntered with carefree leisure toward Liberty 
Street. Nearing the corner, he was about to 
run for a Woodlawn car he saw approaching, 
when he suddenly stopped short and ducked 
into the entrance of a store. Who in the world 
could that stout clergyman be, standing on the 
corner opposite? He looked much like Mr. 
Grough! Too much like him to suit Dan’s 
fancy just now. His back was turned, but 
presently he lowered the paper he was reading, 
and fetching out his handkerchief, removed his 
hat and slowly dried his perspiring forehead. 
His hair was not red! It was not Mr. Grough! 

“Thank God!” muttered Dan. Then he 
drew a sharp, quick breath. It was the first 
time today he had thought of Him. He could 
not remember having said his prayers that 
morning. Dan walked slowly to the corner, 
whispering softly to himself: 

“Angel of God, my Guardian dear. 

Be with me, I pray, when danger is near.” 

Then he said a “Hail Mary” and the 
“Memorare.” 


184 


REARDON RAH! 


Perhaps, after all, it would be better if he 
would go home . . . His mother . . . Mary 
. . . His father . . . a sound thrashing! 

“All aboard! Woodlawn car!” 

“Hev, wait a second!” shouted Dan, and 

•/ * 

boarded the car just before the conductor 
closed the doors. 

“Gwynn Oak Junction!” announced the 
conductor. “Change for Arlington.” 

Thinking “Gwynn Oak Junction” and 
“Gwynn Oak Park” the same, Dan left the 
car with the crowd. Across the street he saw a 
large blue bus waiting. 

“This bus for Gwynn Oak Park?” he asked 
the driver. 

“Nope, sonny; we run out to Hicktown. 
Want to come? Lots of woods and a large 
sky!” 

“Well, how do I get to Gwynn Oak Park?” 

“Car down Gwynn Oak Avenue.—’Board!” 
shouted the driver. 

Dan never could tell why, when later he re¬ 
flected on the events of this day, but he stepped 
into the bus and was soon rolling swiftly over 
the Liberty Pike toward Hicktown. It was 
a good road and ran up and down long hills 
through short stretches of woods. The bus 
travelled swiftly past prosperous farms. The 
fast sinking sun spread a warm glow over the 
fields. 


WILD OATS 


185 


“Golly Day, this is a swell ride,” mused Dan. 
“Isn’t it pretty, though. It’s just kinda like a 
painting. Glad I came. I can get off some¬ 
where and sneak into the woods. Then I’ll find 
a soft place somewhere and go to sleep.” 

The bus had stopped. A Polarine sign at 
a cross-roads bore the legend that Woodstock 
was six miles in the direction of the arrow. 
West, noted Dan, as he saw the huge red ball 
of the sun disappearing below the distant hills. 

Dan paid his fare and left the bus. On re¬ 
turning his change to his trouser pocket, he 
realized with dismay that his only remaining 
bills were gone. Only a few dimes, nickels and 
pennies were left of his hard earned money. 
The bus! He had dropped them in the bus! 
Alas, the bus was by this time three hundred 
yards away and thundering on toward Hick- 
town. 

With a heavy heart and tears wetting his 
eyelids, the boy made his way west along the 
side road. Houses thinned out along the way, 
and after covering three laborious miles, Dan 
began the descent of a long hill. At the bottom 
he could barely discern the outlines of an iron 
bridge across a small stream. On his 
left among the trees and up the high bank 
of the road-cut, he thought he saw a stone 
house. He hesitated. Then he climbed the 
bank, and reaching the top, saw that his stone 
house was but the dilapidated ruin of an ancient 


186 


REARDON RAH! 


meeting house. Dan was weary and sore of 
foot. Tears were flowing freely now. He 
climbed in through the broken entrance and 
threw himself heavily upon a pile of damp 
leaves in the corner. 

Clink! Clink! " ] 

What was that? 

The terrified boy felt nervously among the 
leaves. His hand touched something solid. 
He breathed easier. Only an old bottle. He 
left it there and snuggled closer into the leaves, 
grateful resting place for a young body so tired 
as his own. Dan was soon asleep. 

An hour of sound sleep passed like ten. 
Dan awoke and found himself tying on his 
back. It was raining, and the large drops 
pelted through the lace-like structure of the 
rotted roof. He must seek better shelter. 
Over there in the far corner it seemed drier. 

Dan was on the point of seeking out his new 
bed, when his ear caught the sound over and 
above the pelting of the rain, of a thrumming 
motor. It would be a truck. At first he 
thought the machine was laboring up the long 
hill from the bridge, but soon he realized that 
he was wrong. He could now see very dim 
lights through the doorway, approaching 
through the woods. They were making 
straight for the ruined church. What could be 
the errand of a truck driver here in the woods 


WILD OATS 


187 


in the middle of the night. Dan consulted his 
radiolite. Ten o’clock. 

The motor stopped twenty feet away. 

“We’ll wait here for Emil,” said a voice. 
“He knows how to back up to the place. ’Fraid 
I might get her stuck in there. Turrible dark, 
ain’t it?” 

“Right-O!” answered another voice. 
“Hang this rain anyway!” 

“Naw; rain’s lucky fer us. Keeps nosey 
people off the road. We gets away with the 
sweet water all the more easier, I says.” 

“Yeh, . . . that’s a fack,” admitted the 
dissenter, slowly. “How many bottles?” 

“Hundred and eight quarts an’ fifty-three 
five-gallon dimmies, under the leaves in the 
front left-hand corner. Wish Emil was here. 
Shucks! We can’t even smoke.” 

Bootl . . . 

A vivid flash of lightning, followed by a 
deafening crash of thunder. 

Dan drew back into the front left-hand 
corner. 

“Jumpin’ grasshoppers!” cried one of the 
men. 

“Close one!” commented the other. “One 
like that hittin’ the church would spill all our 
honey!” 

Rain fell in sheets. 

Dan took advantage of the noise of the rain 
and stumbled gropingly toward the rear of the 


188 


REARDON RAH! 


ruined church. There in the side nearest the 
road the wall had fallen away. Dan peered 
through the orifice. Sheer blackness below. 

Another flash. Ah, he could see the earth 
only three feet below. He sat on the wet 
stones, threw his legs outside, and slipped 
quietly to the ground. Dan was cold. Streams 
of water ran from his cap. 

Another flash. Dan ran for the edge of the 
road bank, and as the thunder rolled he tripped 
over a vine and fell heavily to the ground. 
Quickly picking himself up, he made another 
dash and then slid on his heels down the muddy 
bank to the road. 

Two bleary headlights were approaching 
from the bridge. Oh, would it be Emil or 
someone else? Dan breathed a prayer. Had 
he escaped after all, or fallen into the hands of 
these law-breakers? 

Chug-achug-a-chug! Then a slight pause 
and a low grinding noise. ’Twas a Ford 
dropping into low gear. He would chance it 
and hail the driver. 

A flash. 

Dan raised his voice to its highest pitch and 
shouted: 

“Yay! Mister! Gimme a ride! Yay, 
there!” 

The driver had heard. He stopped his 
machine. 

“No, Brother; go ahead! Go ahead! You 


WILD OATS 


189 


don’t know who it is. Maybe a holdup! I 
have the Blessed Sacrament, you know!” 

The voice came from the rear seat. 

The machine started again with a jerk. Dan 
leaped on the running-board and wrenching 
aside the curtains, forced his head through the 
narrow opening. An electric torch gleamed 
from the rear seat. 

“It’s no holdup, Mister! Honest it ain’t! 
Oh, take me in, please; for God’s sake take me 
in! Those guys’ll get me! It’s only Dan 
Reardon, Mister!” 

The machine ground on up the hill. 

“Oh, it’s only a little boy, Father. Better 
let him in, eh?” And the driver loosened the 
curtains, and opening the door admitted the 
trembling boy. 

The car was speeding onward now, but not 
too fast, for there were many hills and many 
turns in the road. A skilful driver sat at the 
wheel. Once when the lightning flashed again, 
Dan stole a look at his companion in the front 
seat. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Dan. 

“Did you say something, son?” queried the 
driver. 

“No; I . . . that is, ... I ... I just 
said ‘Oh!* ** explained Dan. 

“ ‘ Oh!* what?” asked the driver. 

“Weren’t you driving a big green truck in 
Baltimore today?” 


190 


REARDON RAH! 


“Yes; how’d you know? . . . Well, if it 
isn’t the little fellow I pretty nearly ran down! 
How’d you get out here, son?” 

“I lost my way, sir. I was going . . .” 

“Yes; where? What did you say your name 
is?” 

“Daniel Reardon. My home’s in Washing¬ 
ton. Six thousand Sea Island Avenue. I was 
just . . 

Then Dan regretted what he had said. A 
wave of stubbornness washed over him. The 
driver questioned and questioned again, but to 
no avail. The boy would not answer. 

The ear turned sharply to the left and sped 
on over a fairly level road. The storm was far 
from abating. Flash after flash of lightning 
lighted up the angry heavens and peal after 
peal of thunder shook the atmosphere. It was 
necessary to use the rain-wiper every few 
seconds, so heavy was the rainfall. Then the 
land became hilly again, and at times it was 
impossible to tell whether the car was travelling 
up hill or down, except for the manner in which 
the engine acted. 

“We’re coming to the North Branch, 
Father,” remarked the driver. 

“Be careful, Brother,” said the Priest from 
the rear seat. It was his only remark since Dan 
had boarded the car. 

Brother was talking to his machine: 

“Steady, now, Lizzie. Whoa, old horse! 


WILD OATS 


191 


Take it easy! Woops! Stop that skidding! 
Easy, easy, now!” 

The car was scarcely moving down the steep 
hill. Brother slid the gears easily into low. 
The hill was steeper. The motor ground 
quietly and the car slowly rounded a wide 
curve. A powerful car with blinding head¬ 
lights loomed up close. Brother slowed to 
about two miles an hour. He pulled over to 
the right. As the big car whisked past, the 
Ford’s right wheels dropped off the concrete 
into the mud. Brother handled his wheel 
skilfully. He ran along a few yards in the 
mud and then slowly but surely guided the 
front wheels back to the road again. The car 
made a lurch as the rear wheel tried to mount 
the edge of the concrete. Dan clutched the side 
of the seat. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace ...” cried Dan 
aloud. 

A little more gas, and the car with a bound 
was once again on the road and speeding on¬ 
ward over the last twenty yards of the descent. 

“So you’re a Catholic too?” remarked 
Brother. 

Dan would not answer. 

Up the other side of the valley ground the 
Ford, and after a very few minutes turned into 
a gateway. Brother sounded the horn. The 
car came to a standstill close to a little cabin. 

“Get out, please, Dan,” said Brother, “so I 


192 


REARDON RAH! 


can loosen the back curtains and let Father 
out.” 

Dan obeyed. He stood shivering in the rain 
while Brother opened the rear curtains. The 
Priest stepped out. 

“This way. Father,” said a man in oilskins 
behind them. “Lucky you got my phone mes¬ 
sage. She’ll go tonight, Father.” 

“Good evening, Mr. Wood,” said the Priest. 
And then to Brother, “Bring the boy in. 
Brother, and get him warm.” 

The soul that passed that stormy night 
under the gaze of Dan Reardon was one un¬ 
touched by the stain of sin, save for such little 
blemishes as a child of ten years may suffer 
from the fact of possessing human nature. 
Little Mary Wood had lain abed since she was 
five years old, a patient sufferer from the 
white plague. 

The weeping father and mother knelt by the 
bedside. The Priest stood before a little table 
on which burned two candles. Linen cloths 
were spread and an open golden round box re¬ 
posed thereon. Brother knelt behind the Priest 
and Dan near the foot of the bed. 

The Priest faced the little girl. His fingers 
held the White Host elevated slightly above 
the golden box. He was speaking in Latin: 

“Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst 


WILD OATS 


193 


enter under my roof: but only say the word 
and my soul shall be healed.” 

Again he said the words, and a third time. 
And then: 

“Receive, sister, the Viaticum of the Body 
of Our Lord Jesus Christ and may He guard 
thee from the foe malign, and conduct thee into 
everlasting life. Amen.” 

The Priest moved closer to the bed, ex¬ 
tended his hand and placed the White Host 
gently on the child’s tongue. Her thin hands 
were crossed on her breast, clasping her white 
little rosary. Her eyes beamed bright and 
seemed to reflect with their blue the color of 
such a sky as domes over the fair country of 
Heaven. There was a brightness all around 
her head. She closed her eyes and remained 
motionless. 

The Priest was busy again at the table. He 
turned again to the bed. Mary’s blue eyes were 
open. She parted her lips once more and re¬ 
ceived the spoonful of water. Her eyes closed 
again. 

Ten silent minutes passed. All remained 
kneeling except Dan. He had sought a chair 
in the corner and sat looking blankly into 
space. Even a casual observer glancing in Dan’s 
direction, would have said there was a rather 
glassy and unnatural glint in the boy’s eyes. 

There was a movement in the sick-bed. The 
child’s breast rose and fell in quick short 


194 


REARDON RAH! 


breathing. She coughed. Her hands clutched 
at her throat. 

Dan stood up and stared. 

The mother wrung her hands, sobbing. 
“Oh! Oh! my little darling!” she moaned. 

Mary quieted. Her eyes were wide open. 
Her lips smiled. Her thin arms were out¬ 
stretched. 

“Here I am!” she whispered softly. “I’m 
coming!” 

The Priest was speaking again in Latin: 

“Depart, O Christian soul, out of this sin¬ 
ful world, in the name of God, the Father 
Almighty, who created thee; in the name of 
Jesus Christ, the Son of the Living God, who 
suffered and died for thee; in the name of the 
Holy Ghost, who sanctified thee; in the name 
of the glorious and blessed Virgin Mary, 
Mother of God ...” 

“Here I am, Blessed Mother!” whispered 
Mary, and her little arms dropped lifeless on 
the coverlet. 

Dan Reardon stood like one stunned by a 
sudden blow. 

The next day dawned bright. Dan Reardon 
awoke early and looked up into the smiling 
brown eyes of Brother. 

“Well, young man, did you have a good 
sleep after our wild night’s ride. My goodness, 
but you were tired out, boy; I thought you’d 


WILD OATS 


195 


fall over before you could get undressed. How 
feel?” 

“Good morning, Brother,” said Dan 
cheerily. “What time is it, please?” 

“Six o’clock. Better dress quickly now and 
come down for some breakfast. Train leaves 
at six-twenty-eight. Your Dad said to take 
the first train and lose no time. He wants you 
home right away quick. I must run away now 
and serve Mass. Father Franklin is ready to 
begin. There’s your suit on the chair: I 
managed to get most of the mud off. Good¬ 
bye. Hope to see you again some time. Ill 
always give you a ride if I meet you on the 
road in the rain.” 

Brother extended his hand and there was a 
twinkle in his eye. 

“Good-bye r Brother,” said Dan warmly. 
“And please thank Father Franklin for me. 
And I thank you too. And, Brother . . .” 

Dan’s face clouded. 

. . what did my father say over the 
phone? How did he sound? Mad, like?” 

Brother smiled. 

“N-no; just sort of short and snappy. He 
thanked me and said you must come home on 
the first train. He said that was very im¬ 
portant. So hurry now, or you’ll miss it.” 

With another good-bye, Brother left the 
room. With one bound Dan was out of bed 
and on his knees. 


196 


REARDON RAH! 


The only prayer he could think of was: “O 
God, thank You! Thank You! Thank You!” 

Dan easily found the kitchen and after 
hastily swallowing a cupful of steaming coffee, 
started off down the steep hill to the railroad 
station. He kept one hand always in his coat 
pocket, clutching the five dollar bill Father 
Franklin had given him. 

The fifty miles between Woodstock and 
Washington unrolled all too slowly for fidgety 
Dan. Home—he was going home , no matter 
what it would cost him when he reached there. 
And he would never leave again, no matter 
what reasons might prompt him to do so. They 
would all be glad to see him, so glad that his 
father would forget to scold him. Had he not 
said to come at once—first train? His mother 
would fold him in her arms and kiss him. Mary 
would hug and kiss him too. Yes; Mary 
would, surely—good, loving Mary, who always 
took his part. (Mary, who loved him more 
than he knew!) 

The tedious ride was nearly over. The train 
was slowing down for the last run through the 
car-yards. M Street was crossed; L Street; 
K, I, H! Dan stood in the vestibule of the 
car. Oh, the joy of landing once more on 
Washington soil when one has been away for a 
thousand years, and now at last is home! 

The taxi drew up in front of 6000 Sea 



WILD OATS 


197 


Island Avenue, Dan leaped out, paid the driver 
and bounded up the steps two at a time. He 
had not noticed that the shades were drawn on 
the second floor. He stopped with his hand on 
the door-knob. He would steal in and surprise 
them. Mother and Mary would be in the 
kitchen. Papa would have gone to work. 

The door opened silently to his pressure. 
He passed through the hall on tip-toe and into 
the dining-room. Things were in a bit of dis¬ 
order, thought Dan. Into the kitchen. Not 
a soul there! Back through the dining-room, 
the hall; stealthily up the stairs. Half a smile 
was on his lips—yet some traces of perplexity 
puckered his brow. The door of the front room 
stood ajar. Dan gently pushed it open, and 
at once the smile faded from his lips. 

His mother and father knelt on the opposite 
side of the bed. A little table stood near the 
head, and on it burned two wax candles. A 
Priest was turning from the table to the bed, 
holding the White Host a little elevated above 
the little golden round box. In the bed, her 
blue eyes bright with fever, lay another Mary 
—his Mary —and was she too . . . dying? 
This was some trick of the imagination. But 
no; the Priest was speaking in Latin: 

“Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst 
enter under my roof; but only say the word 
and my soul shall be healed.” Again he said 
the words, and a third time. Then: 


198 


REARDON RAH! 


“Receive, sister, the Viaticum of the Body of 
Our Lord Jesus Christ, and may He guard 
thee from the foe malign and conduct thee into 
life everlasting. Amen.” 

A momentary smile played about Mary’s 
lips, a brightness glittered in her eyes. She 
opened her lips and received her God. 

The Priest was busy at the little table again. 
He turned once more to Mary. She opened 
her lips and took the spoonful of water. Her 
eyes were closed again now and the smile was 
returned to her lips. 

Dan realized a gentle touch on his arm. He 
looked up into the tear-stained face of his 
father. 

“Come, Daniel,” said Mr. Reardon, and led 
the stupefied boy into the back bedroom, his 
own. Mr. Reardon forced Dan into a chair, 
while he himself sat on the bedside. 

“Daniel, my son,” began the father; “there 
is time for nothing now but the truth. Your 
sister is very near to ... to ... to .. . 
death. She was stricken with nervous prostra¬ 
tion Wednesday afternoon after telling your 
mother something she had heard you say in 
your sleep. When you did not return home 
Wednesday evening her condition became 
worse. The doctor will return in a few minutes 
to watch for the crisis. She will either get 
better or will . . . begin . . . sinking, by nine 


WILD OATS 


199 


o’clock. Come now, let us go and pray bv her 
death-bed.” 

The father led his boy again toward the sick¬ 
room. At the threshold Dan halted. He fell 
on his knees, and the wondering father saw him 
join his hands in prayer, heard him cry aloud: 

“Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, 
that never was it known that anyone who fled 
to thy protection, implored thy help or sought 
thine intercession was left unaided by thee. 
Inspired with this confidence ... I ... I 
. . . I don’t remember the rest, dear Virgin 
Mother, but oh, oh! save my sister Mary! It’s 
my fault she’s sick. If you save her I’ll always 
be good. I promise you . . . And you too, 
you other little Mary, save my sister! Ask 
God, please, please!” 

Then Dan arose. He went straight to his 
sister’s bedside. Mary’s eyes were closed. She 
lay motionless. Dan’s father stood at his side, 
his arm around the boy’s shoulder. The Priest 
was at the foot of the bed. Mrs. Reardon came 
and took Dan’s hand in both her own. 

Mary stirred. Her eyes opened. Her arms 
too, opened wide in a gesture of welcome. 

“Oh, Dan!” she cried, “I knew you’d come! 
I just this moment asked Our Lord to bring 
you back, and I thought I heard Him say ‘ves; 
He would; not to worry.’ I must thank Him 
now.” 

Mary’s eyes closed again and the girl slept. 


200 


REARDON RAH! 


’Twas her heart had been sick, and Dan him¬ 
self had come: the only medicine. She knew 
he would! 


***** 

. . . There is a Book 

By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light , 

On which the Eyes of God not rarely look , 

A chronicle of actions just and bright — 

There all thy deeds , my faithful Mary , shine; 
And since thou own’st that praise , 1 spare thee mine. 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 


“THE TORCH OF TRUTH” 

We’ve trod the maze of error round , 

Long wandering m the winding glade; 

And now the torch of truth we’ve found: 

It only shows us where we strayed. 

—George Crabbe 

I T IS the evening of September the eighth. 
The day has been warm, but now a gentle 
breeze is relieving Washington’s late 
summer heat. Daniel Reardon is walking 
slowly down North Capitol Street, his head 
bent forward in meditative thought. 

So many things had happened since school 
had closed. Why, there was enough crowded 
into that one week in July to make a fellow’s 
hair turn grey. That week! Would he ever 
forget it? Not all of it was to be remembered, 
though: Dan had apologized to Mr. Hanna 
and Miss Wilson at the Office, and was doing 
his best to obey injunctions there received to 
“forget it.” But those anxious hours before he 
knew for sure that Mary was going to get well 
and be his loving sister once more: this anguish 

201 



202 


REARDON RAH! 


he could not forget. How he had sat with her 
far into the night until his mother shooed him 
off to bed; waited on her every wish; had been 
her abject slave: these were things Dan 
Reardon would never forget—nor would Mary 
either, by the way. Nor could he ever forget 
the shout of joy he let out, when the doctor 
came one day and finally said there was no 
more danger! 

Presently Dan raises his eyes . . . 

“Why, hello there, Mike, old fellow!” cries 
Dan. “When’d you get back? Awful glad to 
see you!” And Dan warmly extended his hand. 

“Hello, Dan, old scout!” returned Michael 
Hanley, much surprised. “ Y’know, I saw you 
coming along there thinking pretty hard, like, 
and I didn’t think you’d want to say hello to 
me. 

“Well, Mike, I guess I can’t blame you 
much for thinking that. But if you’ll forget 
all about . . . about it, Mike; I guess we can 
be buddies again, can’t we? I’m sorry . . .” 

“Aw, forget it yourself, Danny! Here, 
shake again. Say, where you going anyway? 
Come on up to the house. I got a lot of fine 
things when I was up in Boston. Some good 
old town, that! You ought to see the swell 
glove I got. Belonged to Babe Ruth!” 

“Wow! You don’t say; I’m just bugs to 
see it, but I can’t come now, Mike. I’ve got 
to go down to school. I have a date with Mr. 



“THE TORCH OF TRUTH” 


203 


Grough. He’s going to let me know if I 
passed the condition exams. I took ’em yester¬ 
day and the day before, you know. Golly Day, 
but I hope I passed. Think of it: another 
year in First, if I didn’t. Uh-uh!” 

“Oh, you passed all right,” encouraged Mike. 
“Well, s’long. I’ll bring that glove to school 
tomorrow. You glad school’s opening? I 
am.” 

“You just bet I am!” said Dan sincerely. 
“S’long. See you tomorrow.” 

Before ringing the Rectory bell, Dan had 
stopped for a moment in the church. “I don’t 
deserve much, Dear Lord, but won’t You 
please have Mr. Grough tell me that I passed?” 

He was waiting in the parlor now. Outside, 
the children were playing in the streets. Dan 
could hear them singing at their games: 

“Go in and out the windows . . .” 
and 

“London Bridge is falling down, falling 
down . . 

Over in the Park the summer evening con¬ 
cert was in full swing. The band was playing 
one of the season’s latest hits. Everybody 
seemed happy. Nothing like care weighed 
upon anyone. Dan too—yes, he felt he was 
rather happy, sort of, after a fashion; but if 
only Mr. Grough would not delay so long with 
the one message worth while. Would it be yes 


204 


REARDON RAH! 


or no, when the genial teacher came. Would 
he—Dan—go on to Second Year, or had he 
failed again and would he thus be forced to re¬ 
peat First? The tears welled up at the 
thought. Repeat the year; repeat the year; 
repeat the year; repeat . . . 

“I do believe he’s fallen asleep I” 

Dan sprang to his feet with a start. 

“Oh, Mr. Grough, but you scared me! I 
was just thinking how awful it would be if I 
had to repeat First. Tell me, Mr. Grough: 
have you got good news for me? I passed, 
didn’t I? Oh! Mr. Grough, don’t look that 
way! It makes me think you’re going to say 
no. Don’t say no. Mister, please; I couldn’t 
stand it!” # ' 

Mr. Grough smiled. 

“Now, now, Dan; don’t get excited. Be¬ 
fore I tell you the result of your examina¬ 
tions I want to have a little chat with you. It 
is cruel, perhaps, to keep you waiting for what 
you desire to know so earnestly, but you will 
see my reasons later on. So pay attention now, 
and if you will be so good, answer a few ques¬ 
tions I shall put you.” 

“Oh, Mr. Grough, I wish you’d tell me about 
my exams, first; then I’ll answer every ques¬ 
tion you’ll ask. Will you, please, sir?” 

Mr. Grough smiled. He seemed to consider 
a moment. 

“No,” said he, with a wag of his head, “I’m 


“THE TORCH OF TRUTH” 205 

sure that would never do. That would spoil 
everything. The price you’ve got to pay for 
that exam.-information, Dan, is to answer my 
questions first. Cash in advance, young man. 
Or, I might say, Cash on Delivery. Are you 
ready to begin?” 

“Well, I suppose so. But, Mister . . .” 

“Fine! Now for the first question: Do you 
remember the first time I ever saw you?” 

“Why, yes, sir, of course; but ...” 

“Good! Now why were you crying in the 
Chapel that day?” 

“Gee! Mister; what funny questions. I 
really don’t remember. Prob’ly got a bawling 
out or something,” 

“That answer will do, I suppose. Now: A 
little later you and Michael Hanley had a race 
and there was some misunderstanding, wasn’t 
there, about the result?” 

Dan clouded. 

“Yes, sir,” said he; “they all said I fouled 
Mike—all but you, sir.” 

“Then Mike and you had a few fisticuffs, if 
I remember rightly?” 

“Yes, sir; but, Mr. Grough, will you please 
tell me why you’re asking such funny 
questions?” 

Mr. Grough smiled. 

“Now, now; just a second, sir! Our con¬ 
tract was that I ask the questions and you 
answer them. Shall I go on?” 


206 


REARDON RAH! 


“All right, sir,” agreed Dan, and grinned in 
spite of his perplexity. “You win, sir!” 

“Good!” said Mr. Grough, and smiled. It 
was a mischievous, aggravating smile, but 
pleasant withal. “Good!” he repeated. “Now, 
do you remember that you and I had a chat to¬ 
gether, all about the difficulties you had been 
putting up with?” 

Dan nodded. 

“And what did I say was the best way to 
overcome your troubles?” 

“I sha’n’t forget it, sir. You said I ought 
to kind of talk to Our Lord Himself about 
things that keep happening to a fellow, and 
promise Him to be a man and stand up and 
fight difficulties and pray. That’s what you 
said.” 

“Right! Now, you took a resolution that 
you would try to do that, didn’t you?” 

Dan nodded. 

“Was there anything that happened after 
that chat of ours that confirmed you in your 
resolution; made you twice as firmly convinced 
that my advice was pretty good?” 

“I don’t understand, sir.” 

“I’ll explain, then: You dreamed about 
Saint Tarsicius. . . .” 

Dan’s eyes lighted with recognition. 

“Oh, yes,” he murmured. 

“. . . and w r e both agreed, especially you, 
that the troubles you had to put up with, were 


/ 


“THE TORCH OF TRUTH” 


207 


almost nothing compared with what that weak 
little Roman lad had to suffer. Yet he was a 
martyr. Didn’t that make you feel more like 
fighting against your difficulties? 5 ’ 

“Yes, sir,” admitted Dan, “it did, all right. 
I thought Tarse was a regular little fellow!” 

“ r Saint Tarsicius’ would be more respectful, 
Dan,” smiled Mr. Grough. “Now listen care¬ 
fully: here’s an important question: How did 
you get along after that? Did difficulties seem 
so hard to bear? Were you so much dis¬ 
couraged as before?” 

Dan reflected. 

Mr. Grough kept smiling. 

“Ah! I think I see, Mr. Grough: Why there 
weren’t any more difficulties after that. I got 
along fine. Came up in class. Won a place on 
the Midgets. Won the debate. Won the 
championship for the Fays, and all like that.” 

“That’s what you did, all right,” said Mr. 
Grough. “Now carefully, Dan! Here’s an¬ 
other important one. Can you remember just 
the exact time when difficulties began again?’ 

“Yes, sir; I can: it was when I got a bad 
report card and was put off the baseball squad. 
I won’t forget that!” 

“Wrong!” said Mr. Grough, slapping his 
knee. “Wrong! I shall have to tell you the 
correct answer. It was when—are you listen¬ 
ing? Prepare yourself for a shock!—it was 
when you contracted such a swelled head on 


208 


REARDON RAH! 


your wonderful athletic ability! That’s when 
it was! Your difficulties began again right 
there!” 

Mr. Grough’s tones were kindly, but 
emphatic. Dan was silent. 

“The questioning’s nearly over, Dan. You’ll 
soon learn the result of your examinations. 
Consider: here’s what happened: You had 
many little things happen to you which were a 
cause of discouragement. You wisely took my 
advice and decided not to be discouraged by 
difficulties. For a time difficulties seemed to 
cease. There followed a period of prosperity. 
And, Danny boy, you didn’t know how to en¬ 
joy prosperity half as well as you could face 
and fight down difficulties. You got a swelled 
head. You failed in your studies. You can 
trace all your troubles of this summer, all the 
things you told me about when you came to 
see me last month, to your failure to use pros¬ 
perity well. So you see, I hope, that there are 
worse things than difficulties and troubles—one 
of them is prosperity poorly used. And there 
are harder fights to fight than any struggle 
against discouragement—one of them is the 
fight against your own good opinion of your 
exalted self. Therefore my conclusion is: 1 
must never be discouraged, for when I’m over¬ 
whelmed with trouble, nature and God’s grace 
will combine to put me on top once more; and 
when I’m on top, my prayer will be: ‘Steady 


“THE TORCH OF TRUTH” 


209 


me. Lord; it’s high up here, and I get dizzy so 
easily.' 

“Now then, Dan, here you are: you have 
made a pretty bad mess of the season of pros¬ 
perity you had before. How do you think you 
would handle yourself if you were given 
another? Suppose, for instance, I should say 
—I’m not saying it, mind—but suppose I 
should say that you have passed these condition 
examinations. Do you think you could 
profitably stand so much prosperity as that? 
Now wait: another question: On the other 
hand, suppose I should say that you failed these 
examinations? Do you think you have learned 
well enough the lesson of not being discouraged 
by difficulties? Would you be a quitter, Dan?” 

A large hand-bell was clanging. 

“The bell for Benediction in our Domestic 
Chapel, Dan. Come, lad, let’s go in. There 
you can talk the matter over with Someone 
better able to give you advice than I am, and 
who, when He speaks to your heart will use 
kinder language than I have made you listen 
to. When we come out, you may answer my 
last questions, and then . . . Come.” 

The little bell was tinkling. From his place 
next to Mr. Grough in the rear of the Chapel, 
Dan looked up instead of bowing his head when 
the Priest turned with the Blessed Sacrament, 
and gazed earnestly at the great White Host 



210 


REARDON RAH! 


held high in the monstrance. The tears that 
welled to his eyes, made the candles shoot 
bright rays in all directions. In his heart he 
made God a promise. 

During the “Holy God” at the end, Mr. 
Grough suffered a distraction. He could not 
but notice the motionless devotion of his young 
companion. The distraction thus framed itself 
in words in Mr. Grough’s mind: “What a 
wonderful chap is the American Catholic boy 
of the twentieth century! How almost cruel I 
have been to him this evening! Yet he stands 
up! Ah, lead him right—this American 
Catholic boy—and it’s easy to make him a 
saint. But leave him to himself, to struggle 
alone with what he thinks is injustice . . .” 

“Mr. Grough, sir; I’m ready to answer your 
questions now. If I passed my exams., I shall 
try to profit by it and not have a swelled head. 
If I failed . . . I . . . I . . . I’ll be sorry, 
Mr. Grough, but I’ll try to thank God and begin 
all over again and do things better this time.” 

“Excellent! Now, Dan, this is positively the 
last question!” said Mr. Grough, with a new 
sort of a smile. “Wouldn’t you thank God 
also, if you passed?” 

“Would I! Oh, Mr. Grough, sir; did I 
really . . .” 

“I have your papers here, Dan,” said Mr. 
Grough, still smiling. “And unless my e) r e- 



“THE TORCH OF TRUTH” 


211 


sight has gone back on me, each one is marked 
with a big red P-A-S-S-E-D. Now what 
would you say that meant?” 

Dan jumped high in the air, clicked his 
heels together, and came down with a thud. 

“Ha, ha!” he laughed, shaking a teasing 
finger at Mr. Grough; “I don’t have to answer, 
do I, sir? You said you’d asked positively 
your last question! Oh, Boy!” 

* * * & * 

Now then, boys, what do you say? A short 
cheer for Dan? Ready? One . . . two . . . 
three! “Reardon Rah! Reardon Rail! Rah! 
Rah! Reardon!'* 


THE END 


Pbixtbd bt Bekxiqkr Bbothebb, New York 
























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SPIRITUAL CONSIDERATIONS. 

Buckler, O.P. net, $0.83. 

SPOILING THE DIVINE FEAST. 
de Zulueta, S.J, Paper, *$0.08. 


STORIES FOR FIRST COMMUNI¬ 
CANTS. Keller, net, $0.60. 
SUNDAY MISSAL, THE. Lasance. 

Im. leather, limp, red edges, SSr.30. 
THINGS IMMORfAL, THE. Ga- 
resche, S.J. net, $1.23. 

THOUGHTS ON THE RELIGIOUS 
LIFE. Lasance. Im. leather, limp, 
red edges, net, $2.00.. 

THOUGHTS AND AFFECTIONS ON 
THE PASSION OF JESUS CHRIST 
FOR EVERY DAY OF THE YEAR. 
Bergamo, net, $3.25. 

TRUE SPOUSE OF CHRIST. Liguori 
net, $1.75. 

VALUES EVERLASTING, THE 
Garesche, S. J. mi, $1.23. 
VENERATION OF THE BLESSED 
VIRGIN. Rohner-Brennan. net, 

VIGIL'' HOUR, THE. Ryan, S.J. 

VISITSTo’jESUS IN THE TABER¬ 
NACLE. Lasance: Im. leather, limp, 
red edges, $1.75. 

VISITS TO THE MOST HOLY SAC¬ 
RAMENT. Liguori. net, $0.90. 

WAY OF THE CROSS. Paper, *$0.08. 
WAY OF THE CROSS. Illustrated. 
Method of St. Alphonsus Liguori. 
*$0.15. 

WAY OF THE CROSS, THE. 
Very large-type edition. Method of St. 
Alphonsus Liguori. *$0.20. 

WAY OF THE CROSS. Eucharistic 
method. *$0.15. 

WAY OF THE CROSS. By a Jesuit 
Father. *$0.25. 

WAY OF THE CROSS. Method of St. 

Francis of Assisi. *$0.15. 

W'lTH GOD. Prayer-Book by Father 
Lasance. Im. leather, limp, red edges, 
$i- 75 - ' 

YOUNG MAN’S GUIDE, THE. 
Prayer-Book by Father Lasance. 
Seal grain cloth, stiff covers, red edges, 
$1.25. Im. leather, limp, red edges, 
$1.50; gold edges, $2.00. 

YOUR INTERESTS ETERNAL. 

Garesche' S.T. net, $1.23. 

YOUR NEIGHBOR AND YOU. Ga¬ 
resche, S.J. net, $1.25. 

YOUR OWN HEART. Garesche, S.J. 
net, $1.25. 

YOUR ^SOUL’S SALVATION. 
Garesche, S.J. net, $1.25. 


5 


HI. THEOLOGY, LITURGY, HOLY SCRIPTURE, PHILOSOPHY, 
SCIENCE, CANON LAW 


ALTAR PRAYERS. Edition A: Eng¬ 
lish and Latin, net, $1.75. Edition B: 
German-English-Latin, net, $2.00. 

ANNOUNCEMENT BOOK. i2mo. 
net, $3.00. 

BAPTISMAL RITUAL, xamo. <$1.50. 

BENEDICENDA. Schulte. net, $2.75. 

BURIAL RITUAL. Cloth, net, $2.50; 
sheepskin, net, $3.75. 

CASES OF CONSCIENCE. Slater, 
SJ. 2 vols. net, $6.00. 

CHRIST’S TEACHING CONCERN¬ 
ING DIVORCE. Gigot. net, U$3.75. 

CLERGYMAN’S HANDBOOK OF 
LAW. Scanlon, net, $2.25. 

COMBINATION RECORD FOR 
SMALL PARISHES, net. $8.00. 

COMMENTARY ON THE PSALMS. 
Berry, net, $3.50. 

COMPENDIUM SACR2E LITURGLE. 
Wapelhorst, O.F.M. net, H$3.oo. 

ECCLESIASTICAL DICTIONARY. 
Thein. 4to, half mor. net, $6.50. 

GENERAL INTRODUCTION TO THE 
STUDY OF THE HOLY SCRIP¬ 
TURES. Gigot. net, H$4.oo. 

GENERAL INTRODUCTION TO THE 
STUDY OF THE HOLY SCRIP- 

, TURES. Abridged edition. Gigot. 
net, 1f$2.7S. 

HOLY BIBLE, THE. Large type, handy 
size. Cloth, $1.50. 

HYMNS OF THE BREVIARY AND 
MISSAL, THE. Britt, O.S.B. net, 
$6.00. 

JESUS LIVING IN THE PRIEST. 
Millet. S.J. -Byrne, net, $3.25. 

LIBER STATUS ANIMARUM, or 
Parish Census. Book. Large edition, 
size, 14 x 10 inches. 100 Families, 
aoo pp., half leather, net, $7.00; 200 
Families. 400 pp. half leather, net, 
$8.00; Pocket Edition, net, $0.50. 

MANUAL OF HOMILETICS AND 
CATECHETICS. Schuech-Lueeer- 
mann. net, $2.25. 

MANUAL OF MORAL THEOLOGY. 
Slater, S.J. 2 vols. net, $8.00. 

MARRIAGE LEGISLATION IN THE 
NEW CODE. Ayrinhac, S.S. net, 

MARRIAGE RITUAL. Cloth,'gilt edges, 
n, $2.50; sheepskin, gilt edges, n, $3.75. 

MESSAGE OF MOSES AND MODERN 
HIGHER CRITICISM. Gigot. 
Paper, net, ^$0.15. 

MISSALE ROMANUM. Benziger 

Brothers’ Authorized Vatican Edition. 


Black or Red Amer. morocco, gold 
edges, net, $15.00; Red Amer. morocco 
gold stamping and edges, net, $17.50. 
Red finest quality morocco, red un¬ 
der gold edges, net, $22.00. 

MORAL PRINCIPLES AND MED¬ 
ICAL PRACTICE. Cofpens, S.J.- 
Spalding, S.T. net, fa. 50. 

OUTLINES OF NEW TESTAMENT 
HISTORY. Gioot. net, ^$2.75. 

PASTORAL THEOLOGY. Stanc. net, 

f$a.d$. _. 

PENAL LEGISLATION IN THE NEW 
CODE OF CANON LAW. Ayrinhac, 
S.S. net, $3.00. 

PEW COLLECTION AND RECEIPT 
BOOK. Indexed. 11X8 inches, net, 
$3.00. 

PHHOSOPHIA MORALI, DE. Russo, 
S.J. Half leather, net, $2.75. 

PREPARATION FOR MARRIAGE. 
McHugh, O.P. net, $0.60. 

PRAXIS SYNODALIS. Manuale Sy- 
nodi Diocesans ac Provincialis Cele- 
brand®. net, $1.00. 

QUESTIONS OF MORAL THEOLOGY. 
Slater. S.J. net, $3.00. 

RECORD OF BAPTISMS, aoo pages, 
700 entries, net, $7.00. 400 pages, 

140c entries, net, $9.00. 600 pages, 
2100 entries, net, $13.00. 

RECORD OF CONFIRMATIONS. 
net, $6.00. 

RECORD OF FIRST COMMUN¬ 
IONS. net, $6.00. 

RECORD OF INTERMENTS, net, 

$6.00. 

RECORD OF MARRIAGES. Six* 
14X10 inches. 300 pages, 700 entries, 
net, $7.00. 400 pages, 1400 entries, 

net, $9.00. 600 pages, 2100 entries, 

net, $12.00. 

RITUALE COMPENDIOSUM. Cloth, 
net, $1.25; seal, net, $2.00. 

SHORT HISTORY OF MORAL THE¬ 
OLOGY. Slater, S.J. net, $0.75. 

SPECIAL INTRODUCTION TO THE 
STUDY OF THE OLD TESTA¬ 
MENT. Gigot. Part I. net, ^$2.75. 
Part H .net, ^$3.25. 

SPIRAGO’S METHOD OF CHRIS¬ 
TIAN DOCTRINE. Messmer. net, 
$2.50. 

TEXTUAL CONCORDANCE OF THE 
HOLY SCRIPTURES. Williams. 
net, $5.75. 

WHAT CATHOLICS HAVE DONE 
FOR SCIENCE. Brennan, ml, $1.50. 


IV. SERMONS 


CHRISTIAN MYSTERIES. Bono- 
ueixi, D.D.-Byrne. 4 vols., net, $9.00. 
EIGHT-MINUTE SERMONS. De- 
MOUY. 2 vols., net, $4.00. 

HOMILIES ON THE COMMON OF 
SAINTS. Bonomelli-Byrne. 2 vols., 
net, $4.50. 

HOMILIES ON THE EPISTLES AND 
GOSPELS. Bonomelu-Byrne. 4 vols., 
net, $9.00. 

MASTER'S WORD, THE, IN THE 
EPISTLES AND GOSPELS. Flynn. 

2 vols., net, $4.00. 

POPULAR SERMONS ON THE CAT¬ 
ECHISM. Bamberg-Thurston, S.J. 

3 vols., net , $8.50. 

SERMONS. Canon Sheehan, net, 
$3,00. 

SERMONS FOR CHILDREN’S 
MASSES. Frassinetti-Lings. net, 

SERMONS FOR THE SUNDAYS 
AND CHIEF FESTIVALS OF THE 


ECCLESIASTICAL YEAR. Porr- 
geisser, S.J. 2 vols., net, $5.00. 

SERMONS ON OUR BLESSED LADY. 
Flynn, net, $2.50. 

SERMONS ON THE BLESSED SAC¬ 
RAMENT. Scheurer-Lasance. net, 

SERMONS ON THE CHIEF CHRIS¬ 
TIAN VIRTUES. Hunolt-Wirth. 
net, $2.75. 

SERMONS ON THE DUTIES OF 
CHRISTIANS. Hunolt-Wirth. 
net, $2.75. 

SERMONS ON THE FOUR LAST 
THINGS. Hunolt-Wirth. net, $2.75. 

SERMONS ON THE SEVEN DEADLY 
SINS. Hunolt-Wirth. net, $2.75. 

SERMONS ON THE VIRTUE AND 
THE SACRAMENT OF PENANCE. 
Hunolt-Wirth. net, $2.75. 

SERMONS ON THE MASS, THE SAC¬ 
RAMENTS AND THE SACRA- 
MENTALS. Flynn, net, $2.73. 


V. HISTORY. BIOGRAPHY. HAGIOLOGY. TRAVEL 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ST. IGNA¬ 
TIUS LOYOLA. O'Connor, S.J. 
net, $1.75. 

CAMILLUS DE LELLIS. By a 
Sister of Mercy, net, $1.75. 

CHILD’S LIFE OF ST. JOAN OF 
ARC. Mannix. net, $1.50. 

GROWTH AND DEVELOPMENT OF 
THE CATHOLIC SCHOOL SYS¬ 
TEM IN THE UNITED STATES. 
Burns, C.S.C. net, $2.50. 

HISTORY OF THE CATHOLIC 
CHURCH. Brueck. 2 vols., net, 

HKTORY OF THE CATHOLIC 
CHURCH. Businger-Brennan. net, 

uMtory OF THE CATHOLIC 
CHURCH. Businger-Brennan. 
net, f$o.75. 

HISTORY OF THE PROTESTANT 
REFORMATION. Cobbett-Gas- 
QUF.T. net, $0.85. 

HISTORY OF THE MASS. O’Brien. 
net , $2.00. 

HOLINESS OF THE CHURCH IN 
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 
Kempf, S.J. net, $2.75. 

LIFE OF ST. MARGARET MARY 
ALACOQUE. Illustrated. Bougaud. 
net, $ 3 . 75 - 


LIFE OF CHRIST. Businger-Bren- 
nan. Illustrated. Half morocco, gik 
edges, net, $15.00. 

LIFE OF CHRIST. Illustrated. Bus- 
inger-Mullett. net, $3.50. 

LIFE OF CHRIST. Cochem. »,$o.8s. 
LIFE OF ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA. 

Genelli, S.J. net, $0.85. 

LIFE OF MADEMOISELLE LE 
GRAS, net, $0 85. 

LIFE OF POPE PIUS X. Illustrated. 
net, $3.50. 

LIFE OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN. 

Rohner. net, $0.85. 

LITTLE LIVES OF THE SAINTS 
FOR CHILDREN. Berthold. net, 
$0.75* 

LITTLE PICTORIAL LIVES OF THE 
SAINTS. With 400 illustrations. 
net, $2.00. 

LIVES OF THE SAINTS. Butler. 

Paper, $0.25; cloth, net, $0.85. 
LOURDES. Clarke, S.J. net, $0.85. 
MARY THE QUEEN. By a Relig¬ 
ious. net, $0.60. 

MIDDLE AGES, THE. Shahan. net, 

$5.00. 

MILL TOWN PASTOR, A. Conroy, 
S.J. net. $1.75. 

NAMES THAT LIVE IN CATHOLIC 
HEARTS. Sadlier. net, $0.85. 


7 


OUR OWN ST. RITA. Corcoran, 
O.S.A. net. $1.50. 

PATRON SAINTS FOR CATHOLIC 
YOUTH. By M. E. Mannix. Each 
life separately in attractive colored 
paper cover with illustration on front 
cover. Each 10 cents postpaid; per 
25 copies, assorted, net, $1.75. per 100 
copies, assorted, net, $6.75. Sold only 
in packages containing 5 copies of 
one title. 

For Boys: St. Joseph; St. Alsysius; 
St. Anthony; St. Bernard; St. 
Martin; St. Michael; St. Francis 
Xavier; St. Patrick; St. Charles; 
St. Philip. 

The above can be had bound in 1 vol¬ 
ume, cloth, net, $1.00. 

For Girls: St. Ann; St. Agnes; St. 
Teresa; St. Rose of Lima; St. 
Cecilia; St. Helena; St. Bridget; 
St. Catherine; St. Elizabeth; St. 
Margaret. 

The above can be had bound in 1 vol¬ 
ume, cloth, net, $1.00. 

PICTORIAL LIVES OF THE SAINTS. 
With nearly 400 illustrations and over 
600 pages, net, $5.00. 

POPULAR LIFE OF ST. TERESA. 

L’abbe Joseph, net, $0.85. 
PRINCIPLES, ORIGIN AND ESTAB¬ 
LISHMENT OF THE CATHOLIC 
SCHOOL SYSTEM IN THE UNITED 
STATES. Burns, C.S.C. net, $2.50. 


RAMBLES IN CATHOLIC LANDS.' 

Barrett, O.S.B. Illustrated. n,$3-so. 
ROMA. Pagan Subterranean and Mod¬ 
em Rome in Word and Picture. By 
Rev. Albert Kuhn, O.S.B., D.D. 
Preface by Cardinal Gibbons. 617 
pages. 744 illustrations. 48 full-page 
inserts, 3 plans of Rome in colors. 
8J x 12 inches. Red im. leather, gold 
side, net, $12.00. 

ROMAN CURIA AS IT NOW EXISTS. 

Martin, S.J. net, $2.50. 

ST. ANTHONY. Ward, net, $0.85. 
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISL Dubois, 
S.M. net, $0.85. . 

ST. JOAN OF ARC. Lynch, S.J. Illus¬ 
trated. net, $2.75. 

ST. JOHN BERCHMANS. De- 
lehaye, S.J.— Semple, S.J. net , $1.50. 
SAINTS AND PLACES. By John 
Ayscough. Illustrated, net, $3.00. 
SHORT LIVES OF THE SAINTS. 

Donnelly, net, $o ; oo. 

STORY OF THE DIVINE CHILD. 

Told for Children. Lings, net, $0.60. 
STORY OF THE ACTS OF THE 
APOSTLES. Lynch, S.J. Illus¬ 
trated. net, $2.73. 

WOMEN OF CATHOLICITY. Sad- 
lier. net, $0.83. 

WONDER STORY, THE. Taggart. 
Illustrated. Board covers, net, $0.25; 
per 100, $22.50. Also an edition in 
French and Polish at same prices. 


VI. JUVENILES 


FATHER FINN’S BOOKS. 

Each, net, $1.00. 

ON THE RUN. 

BOBBY IN MOVIELAND. 
FACING DANGER. 

HIS LUCKIEST YEAR. A Sequel to 
“ Lucky Bob.” 

LUCKY BOB. 

PERCY WYNN; OR, MAKING A 
BOY OF HIM. 

TOM PLAYFAIR; OR, MAKING A 
START. 

CLAUDE LIGHTFOOT; OR, HOW 
THE PROBLEM WAS SOLVED. 
HARRY DEE; OR, WORKING IT 
OUT. 

ETHELRED PRESTON; OR, THE 
ADVENTURES OF A NEW¬ 
COMER. 

THE BEST FOOT FORWARD; 

AND OTHER STORIES. 

“ BUT THY LOVE AND THY 
GRACE.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION. 

THAT FOOTBALL GAME, AND 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 

THE FAIRY OF THE SNOWS. 
THAT OFFICE BOY. 

HIS FIRST AND LAST APPEAR¬ 
ANCE. 

MOSTLY BOYS. SHORT STORIES. 

FATHER SPALDING’S BOOKS. 

Each, net, $1.00. 

SIGNALS FROM THE BAY TREE. 
HELD IN THE EVERGLADES. 
AT THE FOOT OF THE SAND¬ 
HILLS. 

THE CAVE BY THE BEECH 
FORK 

THE SHERIFF OF THE BEECH 
FORK. 

THE CAMP BY COPPER RIVER. 
THE RACE FOR COPPER ISLAND. 
THE MARKS OF THE BEAR 
CLAWS. 


8 


THE OLD MILL ON THE WITH- 
ROSE. 

THE SUGAR CAMP AND AFTER. 
ADVENTURE WITHTHE APACHES. 

Ferry, net , $0.60. 

ALTHEA. Nirdlinger, net, $0.85. 
AS GOLD IN THE FURNACE. 

Copus, S.J. net , $1.25. 

AS TRUE AS GOLD. Mannix. net, 
$0.60. 

AT THE FOOT OF THE SAND¬ 
HILLS. Spalding, S.J. net, $1.00. 
BELL FOUNDRY. Schaching, net, 
$<x6a 

BERKLEYS, THE. Wight, net, $0.60. 
BEST FOOT FOR WARD, THE. Finn, 
S.J. net, $1.00. 

BETWEEN FRIENDS. Aumerlk. 
net, $0.85. 

BISTOURI. Melandri. net, $0.60. 
BLXSSYLVANIA POST-OFFICE. 

Taggart, net, $0.60. 

BOBBY IN MOVlELAND. Finn, S.J. 
net, $1.00. 

BOB O’LINK. Waggaman. net , $0.60. 
BROWNIE AND I. Aumerle. n,$o.8$. 
BUNT AND BILL. Mulholland. 
net , $0.60. 

“BUT THY LOVE AND THY 
GRACE.” Finn, S.J. net, $i.oo. 

BY BRANSCOME RIVER. Taggart. 
net. $0.60. 

CAMP BY COPPER RIVER. Spald- 
XNG.SJ. net, $100. 

CAPTAIN TED. Waocaman. n,$i.2s. 
CAVE BY THE BEECH FORK. 

Spalding. S J. net, $1.00. 
CHILDREN OF CUPA. Mannix. net, 
$0.60. 

CHILDREN OF THE LOG CABIN. 

Delamare. net, $0.85. 

CLARE LORAINE. “ Lee.” n, $0 85. 
CLAUDE LIGHTFOOT. Finn, S.J. 
net, $1.00. 

COBRA ISLAND. Bouton, S.J. net, 
$i.i 5 - 

CUPA REVISITED. Mannix. net, 
$0.60. 

CUPID OF CAMPION. Finn, S.J. 
net, $x.oo. 

DADDY DAN. Waggaman. net, 
$0.60. 

DEAR FRIENDS. Nirdunger. net, 

DD&pfclNG ’S SUCCESS. Mulhol¬ 
land. net, $0.60. 

ETHELRED PRESTON. Finn, S.J. 

EVERY-SaY GIRL, AN. Crowley. 
net, $0.60, 


FACING DANGER. Finn, S.J. net, 
$1.00. 

FAIRY OF THE SNOWS. Finn, S.J. 
net, $1.00. 

FINDING OF TONY. Waggaman. 
net, $1.35. 

FIVE BIRDS IN A NEST. Delamare. 
net, $0.85. 

FIVE O’CLOCK STORIES. By a 
Religious, net, $0.85. 

FLOWER OF THE FLOCK. Egan. 
net, $1.25. 

FOR THE WHITE ROSE. Hinsson. 
net, $0.60. 

FRED’S LITTLE DAUGHTER. 
Smith, net, $0.60. 

FREDDY CARR’S ADVENTURES. 

Garrold, S.J. net, $0.85. 

FREDDY CARR AND HIS FRIENDS. 

Garrold, S.J. net, $0.85. 

GOLDEN LILY, THE. Hinxson. net. 
$0.60. 

GREAT CAPTAIN, THE. Hinkson. 
net, $0.60. 

HALDEMAN CHILDREN, THE. 

Mannix. net, $0.60. 

HARMONY FLATS. Whitmire, net, 
$0.85. 

HARRY DEE. Finn, S.J. net, $1.00. 
HARRY RUSSELL. Copus, S.J. net, 
$1.25. 

HEIR OF DREAMS, AN. O'Malley. 
net, $0.60. 

HELD IN THE EVERGLADES. 

Spalding, S.J. net, $1 00. 

HIS FIRST AND LAST APPEAR¬ 
ANCE. Finn, S.J. net, $1.00. 

HIS LUCKIESf YEAR. Finn, S.J. 
net, $1.00. 

HOSTAGE OF WAR, A. Bonssteel. 
net, $0.60. 

HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 

Egan, net, $0.85. 

IN QUEST OF ADVENTURE. Man¬ 
nix. net, $0.60. 

IN QUEST OF THE GOLDEN 
CHEST. Barton, net, $0.85. 
JACK. By a Religious, H.C.j. net, $0.60. 
JACK-O’LANTERN. Waggaman. 
net, $0.60. 

JACK HILDRETH ON THE NILE. 

Taggart, net, $0.85. 

JUNIORS OF ST. BEDE'S. Bryson. 
net, $0.85. 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. First 
Series, net, $o.8<;. 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. Second 
Series, net, $0.85. 

KLONDIKE PICNIC, A. Donnelly. 
net, $0.85. 


9 


LEGENDS AND STORIES OF THE 
HOLY CHILD JESUS. Lutz, rut, 

LITTLE APOSTLE ON CRUTCHES. 

Delamare. net $0.60. 

LITTLE GIRL FROM BACK EAST. 

Roberts, net , $0.60. 

LITTLE LADY OF THE HALL. 

Ryeman. net . $0.60. 

LITTLE MARSHALLS AT THE 
LAKE. Ndcon-Roulet. net , $0.85. 
LITTLE MISSY. Waggaman. net , 
$0.60. 

LOYAL BLUE AND ROYAL SCAR¬ 
LET. Taggart, net , $1.25. 
LUCKY BOB. Finn, S.J. h«/,$i.oo. 
MADCAP SET AT ST. ANNE’S. Bru- 
nowe. net , $0.60. 

MAD KNIGHT, THE. Schaching. 
net , $0.60. 

MAKING OF MORTLAKE. Copus, 
S.J. net, $1.25. 

MAN FROM NOWHERE. Sadlier. 


net $0.85. 

MARKS OF THE BEAR CLAWS. 

Spalding, S.J. net , $1.00. 

MARY TRACY’S FORTUNE. Sad¬ 
lier. net , $0.60. 

MILLY AVELING. Smith, net , $ 0 . 85 . 
MIRALDA. Johnson, net , $ 0 . 60 . 
MORE FIVE O’CLOCK STORIES. 

By a Religious, net , $ 0 . 85 . 

MOSTLY BOYS. Finn, S.J. net , $ 1 . 00 . 
MYSTERIOUS DOORWAY. Sadlier. 
net , $0.60. 

MYSTERY OF HORNBY HALL. 

Sadlier. net , $0.85. 

MYSTERY OF CLEVERLY. Barton. 
net , $0.85. 

NAN NOBODY. Waggaman. n , $0.60. 
NED RIEDER. Wehs. rut , $0.85. 
NEW SCHOLAR AT ST. ANNE’S. 

Brunowe. net , $0.85. 

OLD CIIARLMONT’S SEED-BED. 
Smith, net , $0.60. 

OLD MILL ON THE WITHROSE. 

Spalding, S.J. net , *>1.00. 

ON THE OLD CAMPING GROUND. 

Mannix. net , $0.85. 

ON THE RUN. Finn, S.J. Met ,$ 1 . 00 . 
PANCHO AND PANCHITA. Man¬ 
nix. net , $0.60. 

PAULINE ARCHER. Sadlier. net , 

PERCY WYNN. Finn, S.J. *d,$i.oo. 
PERIL OF DIONYSIO. Mannix. 
net , $0,60. 

PETRONELLA. Donnelly, net , $0.85. 
PICKLE AND PEPPER. Dorsey. 
tut, $t.t 5. 


PILGRIM FROM IRELAND. Car¬ 
not. net , $0.60. 

PLAYWATER PLOT, THE. Waooa- 
man. net , $1.25. 

POLLY DAY’S ISLAND. Roberts. 
rut , $0.85. 

POVERINA. Bucxenham. net , $0.85. 

QUEEN’S PAGE, THE. Hinkson. rut, 
$0.60. 

QUEEN’S PROMISE, THE. Wagga¬ 
man. net , $1.25. 

QUEST OF MARY SELWYN. Clem- 
entia. net , $1.50. 

RACE FOR COPPER ISLAND. Spald¬ 
ing, S.J. net , *1 .00. 

RECRUIT TOMMY COLLINS. 
Bonesteel. net , $0.60. 

ROMANCE OF THE SILVER SHOON. 
Bearne, S.J. net , $1.25. 

ST. CUTHBERT’S. Copus, S.J. net, 
$ 1 . 25 * 

SANDY JOE. Waggaman. net, $1.35. 

SEA-GULL’S ROCK. Sandeau. net, 

SEVHEN LITTLE MARSHALLS. 
Nixon-Roulet. net , $0.60. 

SHADOWS LIFTED. Copus, S.J. 
net , $1.25. 

SHERIFF OF THE BEECH FORK. 
Spalding, S.J. net , $1 .00. 

SHIPMATES. Waggaman. net ,% 1 . 25 . 

SIGNALS FROM THE BAY TREE. 
Spalding, S.J. net , $1.00. 

STRONG ARM OF AVALON. Wag- 
gaman. net , $1.25. 

SUGAR CAMP AND AFTER. Spald 
ing, S.J. net, $1.00. 

SUMMER AT WOODVILLE. Sad¬ 
lier. net , $0.60. 

TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
MIDDLE AGES, de Capklla. net, 
$0.85. 

TALISMAN, THE. Sadlier. nd.to.85. 

TAMING OF POLLY. Dorsey, net , 

THAT FOOTBALL GAME. Finn, S.J. 
net , $1.00. 

THAT OFFICE BOY. Finn, S.J. net, 
$1.00. 

THREE GIRLS AND ESPECIALLY 
ONE. Taggart, net , $o.6a 

TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT. Salome. 
rut, $0.85. 

TOM LOSELY; BOY. Copus, S.J. 
net. $1.25. 

TOM PLAYFAIR. Finn, S.J. net, 
$ 1 . 00 . 

TOM’S LUCK-POT. Waggaman. net, 

TOORALLADDY. Walsh, net, Mo. 

10 


TRANSPLANTING OF TESSIE. 

Waggaman. net, $1.25. 

TREASURE OF NUGGET MOUN¬ 
TAIN. Taggart, net, $0.85. 

TWO LITTLE GIRLS. Mack, net, 
$0.60. 

UNCLE FRANK’S MARY. Clemen- 
tia. net, $1.50. 


UPS AND DOWNS OF MARJORIE 
Waggaman. net, $0.60. 

VIOLIN MAKER. Smith. net,%o.6o. 

WTNNETOU, THE APACHE 
KNIGHT. Taggart, net, $0.8$. 

YOUNG COLOR GUARD. Bone- 
steel. net, $0.60. 


VII. NOVELS 


ISABEL C. CLARKE’S GREAT NOV¬ 
ELS. Each, net, $2.00. 

CARINA. 

AVERAGE CABINS. 

THE LIGHT ON THE LAGOON. 
THE POTTER’S HOUSE. 
TRESSIDER’S SISTER. 

URSULA FINCH. 

THE ELS TONES. 

EUNICE. 

LADY TRENT’S DAUGHTER. 
CHILDREN OF EVE. 

THE DEEP HEART. 

WHOSE NAME IS LEGION. 

FINE CLAY. 

PRISONERS’ YEARS. 

THE REST HOUSE. 

ONLY ANNE. 

THE SECRET CITADEL. 

BY THE BLUE RIVER. 

ALBERTA: ADVENTURESS. L’Er- 
f mite, net, $2.00. 

AVERAGE CABINS. Clarke, n, $2.00. 
BACK TO THE WORLD. Champol. 
net, $2.00. 

BARRIER, THE._ Batin, net $1.65. 

BALLADS OF CHILDHOOD. Poems. 

Earls, S.J. net, $1.50. 

BLACK BROTHERHOOD, THE. 

Garrold, SJ. net, $2.00. 

BOND AND FREE. Connor. », $0.85. 
BUNNY’S HOUSE. Walker, n, $2.00. 
BY THE BLUE RIVER. Clarke. 
net, $2.00. 

CARINA Clarke, net $2.00. 
CARROLL DARE. Waggaman. net, 
$0.85. 

CIRCUS-RIDER’S DAUGHTER. 

Brackel. net, $0.85. 

CHILDREN OF EVE. Clarke, net 
$ 2-00 

CONNOR D’ARCY’S STRUGGLES. 

Bertholds. net, $0.85. 

CORINNE’S VOW. Waggaman. net, 

DAUGHTER OF KINGS, A. Hink- 
90 N. net, $2.00. 

DEEP HEART, THE. Clarke, net, 
$ 2 . 00 . 


DENYS THE DREAMER. Hinkson. 
net, $2.00. 

DION AND THE SIBYLS. Keon. 
net, $0.85. 

ELDER MISS AINSBOROUGH, THE 
Taggart, net, $0.85. 

ELSTONES, THE. Clarke, net, $2.00. 
EUNICE. Clarke, net, $2.00. 
FABIOLA. Wiseman, net, $0.85. 
FABIOLA’S SISTERS. Clarke, net, 
$0.85. 

FATAL BEACON, THE. Bracket. 
net, $0.85. 

FAUSTULA. Ayscough. net. $2.00. 
FINE CLAY. Clarke, net, 92.00. 
FLAME OF THE FOREST. Bishop. 
net, $2.00. 

FORGIVE AND FORGET. Lingen. 
net, $0.85. 

GRAPES OF THORNS. Wagcaman. 
net, $0.85. 

HEART OF A MAN. Mahfx. net, 
$2.00. 

HEARTS OF GOLD. Edhor. », $0.85. 
HEIRESS OF CRONENSTEIN. 

Hahn-Hahn. net, $0.85. 

HER BLIND FOLLY. Holt. net. 
$0.85. 

HER FATHER’S DAUGHTER. Hink¬ 
son. net, $2 .00. 

HER FATHER’S SHARE. Power. 
net, $0.85. 

HER JOURNEY’S END. Cooke. 
net, $0.85. 

IDOLS; or THE SECRET OF THE 
RUE CHAUSSE D’ANTIN. de 
Navery. net, $0.85. 

IN GOD’S GOOD TIME. Ross, net, 
fo.85. 

IN SPITE OF ALL. Stanifoeth, net, 
$0.85. 

IN THE DAYS OF KING HAL. 

Taggart, net, $0.85. 

IVY HEDGE, THE. Egan, net, $j.oo. 
KIND HEARTS AND CORONErS. 

Harrison, net. $0.85. 

LADY TRENT’S DAUGHTER. 

Clarke, net, $2.00. 

LIGHT OF HIS COUNTENANCE. 
Hart, net, $0.85. 


IX 


LIGHT ON THE LAGOON, THE 
Clarke, net, $2.00. 

"LIKE UNTO A MERCHANT.” 
Gray, net, $2.00. 

LITTLE CARDINAL. Parr. *,$1.65. 
LOVE OF BROTHERS. Hinkson. net, 
$2.00. 

MARCELLA GRACE. Mulholland. 
net, $0.85. 

MARIE OF THE HOUSE D’ANTERS. 

Earls, SJ. net, $2.00. 
MARIQUITA. Ayscough. net, $2.00. 
MELCHIOR OF BOSTON. Earls, 
S.J. net, $0.85. 

MIGHTY FRIEND, THE. L’Ermite. 
net, $2.00. 

MIRROR OF SHALOTT. Benson. 
net, $2.oo. 

MISS ERIN. Francis, net, $0.85. 
MR. BILLY BUTTONS. Lecky. net, 

MONK’S PARDON, THE. de Nav- 
ery. net, $0.85. 

MY LADY BEATRICE. Cooke, net, 

$0.85. 

NOT A JUDGMENT. Keon. net, 
$1.65. 

ONLY ANNE. Clarke, net, $2.00. 
OTHER MISS LISLE. Martin, net, 
$0.8 5. 

OUT OF BONDAGE. Holt, net, 
$0.85. 

OUTLAW OF CAMARGUE. deLa- 
mothe. net, $0.85. 

PASSING SHADOWS. Yorke. net, 

PERE 5 MONNIER’S WARD. Lecky. 
net, $i.6s. 

POTTER’S HOUSE, THE. Clarke. 
net, $2.00. 

PRISONERS’ YEARS. Clarke, net, 

PRODIGAL’S DAUGHTER, THE, 
AND OTHER STORIES. Bugg. 
net, $1.50. 

PROPHET’S WIFE. Browne, net, 
RED 3 INN OF ST. LYPHAR. Sad- 

LIER. net, $0.85. 

REST HOUSE, THE. Clarke, net, 
$2.00. 

ROSE OF THE WORLD. Martin. 
net, $0.85. 

ROUND TABLE OF AMERICAN 
CATHOLIC NOVELISTS, net, $0.85. 
ROUND TABLE OF FRENCH CATH¬ 
OLIC NOVELISTS, net, $0.85. 
ROUND TABLE OF GERMAN 
CATHOLIC NOVELISTS, net, 
ROUND TABLE OF IRISH AND 


ENGLISH CATHOLIC NOVEL. 
ISTS. net, $0.85. 

RUBY CROSS, THE. Wallace, net. 

$0.85. 

RULER OF THE KINGDOM. Keon. 
net $1.65. 

SECRET CITADEL, THE. Clarke. 
net, $2.00. 

SECRET OF THE GREEN VASE. 
Cooke, net, $0.85. 

SHADOW OF EVERSLEIGH. Lans- 
downe. net, $0.85. 

SHIELD OF SILENCE. Hknry-Roi- 
kn. net, $2.00. 

SO AS BY FIRE. Connor, net, $0.85. 
SON OF SIRO, THE. Copus, S.J. 
net, $2.00. 

STORY OF CECILIA, THE. Hinkson. 
net, $1.65. 

STUORE. Earls, S.J. net, $1.50. 
TEMPEST OF THE HEART. Gray. 
net, $0.85. 

TEST OF COURAGE. Ross, net, $0.85. 
THAT MAN’S DAUGHTER. Rosa. 
net, $0.85. 

THEIR CHOICE. Skinner, net, $0.85. 
THROUGH THE DESERT. Sten- 
KtEwicr. net, $2.00. 

TIDEWAY, THE. Ayscough. *,$2.00. 
TRESSIDER’S SISTER. Clarke. 
net, $2.00. 

TRUE STORY OF MASTER 
GERARD. Sadlier. net, $1.65. 
TURN OF THE TIDE, THE. Gray. 
net, $0.85. 

UNBIDDEN GUEST, THE. Cooke. 
net, $0.85. 

UNDER THE CEDARS AND THE 
STARS. Canon Sheehan, net, $2.00. 
UNRAVELLING OF A TANGLE, 
THE. Taggart, net, $1.25. 

UP IN ARDMUIRLAND. Barrett, 
O. S.B. net, $1.65. 

URSULA FINCH. Clarke. *^,$2.00. 
VOCATION OF EDWARD CONWAY, 
THE. Egan, net, $1.65. 
WARGRAVE TRUCT, THE. Reid. 
net, $1.65. 

WAR MOTHERS. Poems. GareschsT, 
S.J. net, $0.60. 

WAY THAT LED BEYOND, THE. 

Harrison, net, $o.8s. 

WEDDING BELLS OF GLENDA- 
LOUGH, THE. Earls, S.J. «,$a.00. 
WHEN LOVE IS STRONG. Keon. 
net, $1.65. 

WHOSE NAME IS LEGION. Clarke. 

net, $2.00. 

WOMAN OF FORTUNE, A. Rm>. 
net, $1.65. 


12 

















































































